


Recipe For Romance

by ranguvar82



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chef Aziraphale, Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Light Angst, M/M, crowley has agoraphobia, crowley has severe food allergies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: Anthony Crowley would love nothing more than to enjoy a good meal once in a while. Unfortunately, when you're an agoraphobic with severe food allergies, your choices are limited to private chefs. Too bad Crowley's fired every single one. Enter Aziraphale Fell, known for being able to create gourmet meals for even the most discerning palate. Crowley's expecting him to be like every other chef. He's not expecting an angel that will turn his world upside down.Aziraphale has a recipe for everything. Even, maybe, for romance.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 374
Kudos: 338
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. A Taste Of Things To Come

Recipe For Romance

Chapter One: A Taste Of Things To Come

“Get the fuck out of here, you goddamned idiot! Are you trying to kill me?!” The man screamed, throwing his plate of curry at the other occupant of the flat, a man dressed in chef’s whites. The chef dodged the plate of food, and it shattered against the wall, leaving a red and brown streak of sludge.

“Mr. Crowley, please, calm down!” The chef held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I checked and double checked the recipe!”

“Like fuck you did!” Anthony Crowley snarled. “If you had, you would have noticed that it calls for peanut sauce! I. Am. Allergic. To. Fucking PEANUTS!” He swept his arm across the table, sending his glass and silverware crashing to the floor. “This is the third time this has happened. Last week I found a lobster shell in my soup, and the week before that you insisted that the mushrooms were fully cooked when they weren’t! Lucky for you I had my Epi pen on hand! But this is the last straw. Get your things and get out. I never want to see you again!”

The chef dodged the knife thrown at his head and ran back into the kitchen. He gathered together his pots and pans and tossed them into a large box that sat on the steel counter, then went back out to the dining area. “Mr. Crowley, good luck finding another chef. You are, beyond a doubt, the worst client I have ever had the misfortune of cooking for, and that includes the mother with six kids who would eat nothing but chicken nuggets. Whoever cooks for you next will have to have the patience of Job.” He walked out of the flat and into the elevator, sighing in relief.

Crowley snarled at the closed door. “Fuck off.” He stood and went to the closet, pulling out a broom and dustpan. He swept up the glass and plate fragments, then went into the kitchen and wet a washcloth. He wiped the curry off as best as he could before tossing the cloth in the sink to rinse.

His stomach growled, and with a sigh, he looked in the fridge. Nothing except a block of Cheddar cheese(one of the few kinds that didn’t make his stomach do the fandango) and a jar of sweet gherkins. The idiot he had just fired was always forgetting to do the weekly shop, which meant that Crowley now had literally nothing to eat. He didn’t dare call for takeout, not after what had happened before(and led to him hiring a private chef) and his agoraphobia made going out in public an impossibility.

The pantry was as bare as the fridge, and Crowley resigned himself to yet another hungry night. He sliced himself some cheese and arranged them on the plate with the few gherkins that looked edible. He poured himself a glass of wine and carried the pathetic excuse for a meal over to his couch and flipped on the TV, scrolling through channels until he found a Golden Girls rerun.

His mobile rang. He picked it up, rolling his eyes at the scowling face on screen. “What the fuck do you want, Bee?”

“I want to know where the fuck you get off firing my best chef, you asshole!” Bee Zebub, owner of Zebub’s Private Catering, snarled. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Idiot tried giving me peanut sauce. And fed me lobster. And didn’t cook off the mushrooms. If he’s your best, I would hate to see your worst.”

“You do realize that in the last six months, you’ve burned through almost ten chefs? You’re starting to get a reputation, and not the good kind.”

Crowley munched on a gherkin. “Yeah, well, if I were able to find a chef that can actually cook to my standards and specifications, that would be one thing. But every single fucking one so far has missed the mark by a mile.”

“See, that’s your fucking problem, Crowley. You want fucking gourmet meals but you can’t eat anything. Maybe if you weren’t allergic to every fucking thing under the sun, you could find a chef that could work with you. Oh, and also if you weren’t a complete asshole.”

Crowley snorted. “It’s called having standards, Bee. Not that you would understand, covered with flies as you always are. So have you called to say I’ve tapped out, and you’ve got no more chefs?”

“No, you asshole. I called to tell you I may be able to find someone for you. Otherwise you’ll sit in that dungeon you call a flat and eat nothing but cheese and pickles for the rest of your life.”

Crowley took a bite of cheese. “M’not eating cheese and pickles!”

“Bullshit. Do you want to hear about this guy or not?”

Crowley ran a hand through his copper hair. “Yeah, go on.”

“His name’s Fell. Word is he used to be Primo Chef at the Garden of Eden but then had a spectacular fight with the owner and left to start his own catering business. He’s got a rep for being able to work with even the most difficult of clients. His last assignment was to the American ambassador, and he was their private chef for almost six years. Whaddaya say?”

Crowley drained the last of the wine. “Yeah, why not. How do I get in touch with him?”

“Oh, fuck no. I’ll make the arrangements. That way when it all goes to shit at least you can blame me like you always do. Fucker.”

“Love you too, Bee.” Crowley hung up and carried his plate into the kitchen, running it under water to rinse it. His stomach was still clenching, but it was an ache he was an old hand at ignoring. He grabbed his vitamin bottle and popped a few, chasing them with a swig from the wine bottle. He knew that was probably not a good combination, but it stopped his stomach from roiling.

He swaggered into the bathroom and stripped, grimacing at his scrawny reflection in the mirror. He pointedly did not look at the scars across his chest and stomach. He turned the shower to its hottest setting and stepped in, letting the high pressure massage his back and shoulders.

After his shower, he dried and dressed in black silk pajamas before climbing into his gigantic bed, burying himself under the covers. Not for the first time, he wished that he had someone to share it with. Someone who would put up with his asshole nature and his unfortunate tendency to get very clingy very quickly. He had tried in the past to have relationships, but he invariably went about fifteen steps faster than his partners, and they ended up being scared off by his many, many issues or put off by his rather...brusque nature. Crowley had never been the kind to suffer fools lightly, and was never afraid to say exactly what was on his mind at any given time.

With those comforting thoughts running through his head, Crowley slipped into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning Crowley was sitting down to his usual breakfast of a slice of cheese and a vitamin with a cup of coffee(black, since dairy made him vomit) when the doorbell to the flat rang. He groaned. Fucking salesmen not getting the fucking hint…

“What the fuck do...you...ngk.”

The man standing in his door way was, put simply, the most beautiful person Crowley had ever seen in his life. He was a head shorter than Crowley, with hair so blond it was almost white. He had an open, cherubic face with the bluest eyes Crowley had ever seen, and was dressed as though he just stepped out of a period piece. He held a box in his arms, and Crowley could see the handle of a skillet. “Mr. Crowley?”

“Erg...um...yeah.” Crowley tried to sound nonchalant.

The man fumbled with the box and stuck out a hand, beaming. “I’m Aziraphale.” Crowley frowned. “Your new chef?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, come in.” Aziraphale entered, and Crowley closed the door behind them. “Right, um, put your stuff in the kitchen while I go find my binder.”

Aziraphale went into the kitchen, whistling to himself. Whoever this Crowley was, it was very clear that he had expensive taste. Aziraphale was sure the faucets alone cost more than he had ever seen in a month. He placed his box on the counter and began taking out his utensils, sorting them neatly.

A loud thud made him look around. Crowley was standing in front of the island, a large binder in front of him. “Right. Suppose you were told about my...restrictions?” Aziraphale nodded. Mx. Zebub had told him that Mr. Crowley had extensive, and in some cases, severe, food allergies. “Here’s all of them. If you can actually make me something edible while avoiding shit that will either make me sick or make me dead, you’re a fucking miracle worker.” He pushed the binder over to Aziraphale. “I need to do some editing. Happy reading.”

Crowley went into his study, switching on his computer and opening up his latest article, a fluff piece about feeding the ducks at St. James Park. He scanned it, removing the excess commas and changing a few adjectives around. It had taken him less than a day to write, mainly because it hadn’t required any actual going outside. He had pulled on his memories of childhood and embellished from there. Anathema’s readers would eat it up.

As if thinking her name had summoned her, Crowley’s mobile rang. “Hello, witch girl!”

“Hello snake boy. You got my article yet?”

Crowley sighed, his hand hovering over the keyboard. “Just getting ready to send it, and as you requested it’s full of happy ducks and quacking families.”

“Smart ass. I look forward to reading it.”

Crowley hung up, turning at the sound of a knock on the door. “It’s open.” Aziraphale poked his head through.

“Breakfast is served, Mr. Crowley.”

“Just Crowley.”

“Well, just Crowley, breakfast.” Aziraphale turned and headed back to the kitchen. Crowley did not watch his ass as he walked. He gulped, then hit send before mentally telling his cock to behave. He stood and went to his dining area.

Aziraphale arranged the fruit on the plate and smiled to himself. Yes, this looked rather good, if he did say so himself. He poured a fresh cup of coffee before carrying the plate and mug out to Crowley, setting both down with a flourish. “Ta da!”

Crowley scowled at it. “The fuck is this?” It looked like some sort of slop with fruit arranged on top. “If you made fucking oatmeal I will throw you out right now.”

“It’s not oatmeal. It’s a breakfast bowl. The top is a berry smoothie, made with soy milk and using only raspberries and blueberries. Underneath there’s my homemade granola, which I always have on hand. No peanuts in it, so no worries about that. And the very bottom is a flourless pancake. It’s a modification of one of my most popular dishes. I normally top it with honey from my hives, but I haven’t had a chance to harvest yet.”

Crowley stuck a spoon in the glop. He had to admit, it did smell pretty good. He spooned out a minuscule amount and took a tentative bite, expecting it to taste like fruity slop and stodgy pancake. He’d never met anybody that could make a flourless pancake palatable.

The first thing he tasted was the fruit, sharp and bursting on his tongue. The milk-somehow-had the taste of dairy milk, smooth and creamy. The granola had a lovely crunchy texture, and Crowley could swear he tasted caramel. The pancake was light and fluffy, and Crowley moaned. “Oh my god...” He took another, larger bite. Surely he was dreaming. There was no way this would be as good after the next few bites.

Crowley scraped the last bit of pancake out of the bowl, only barely resisting the urge to lick it clean. He looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. “You are so fucking hired.”

Aziraphale smiled a smile that made Crowley’s heart lurch in his chest. “Oh, jolly good. Now, from what I understand, you need a chef 24 7, correct?”

Oh. Fuck. That was right. Crowley’s restrictions and...issues meant that he needed Aziraphale pretty much all the time. Not only to provide meals, but also to buy the food for the meals. Which meant that this gorgeous angel of a man would be **staying in his fucking flat.** “Er...well, you know, won’t need you..um...all 24 hours, so you could um...go home if you...”

Aziraphale’s face fell. Crowley squashed the urge to take him in his arms and tell him everything would be okay. “Ah. Yes. Um, actually, I..don’t...have anywhere to go. I um...my flat’s...oh, hell. I’ve been kicked out by my roommate. He told me I’m too...’boring’, I believe is the word he used. Apparently I ‘cramp his style’.” Aziraphale made air quotes, and Crowley tried to suppress his smile.

“I do have a spare room, if you want it. It’s not much, but there’s a bed and a dresser for clothes.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I have to go back to my flat and get some clothes, but I doubt that will take long, and I noticed while in the kitchen that your cupboards are quite bare. I brought food for breakfast, but I’ll need to go get lunch and dinner for the week.”

Crowley blushed and pulled out his wallet, handing a black card over to the chef. “Here. Anyone gives you grief, just tell ‘em you’re Crowley’s new chef and they’ll bend over backwards for you.”

“Will do. There’s still some granola left, if you want.”

“Yeah, okay. Why’s it taste like caramel?”

Aziraphale grinned. “Trade secret, my dear.” He put the card in his wallet and left.

Crowley sank onto the couch, groaning. How the fuck was he going to survive with that man living in his flat? Did Aziraphale even know how fucking sexy he was?

The jangling of his mobile brought him out of his thoughts of blond hair and blue eyes. “What, Bee?”

“Hello to you too, asshole. Fell show up?”

Crowley let a dreamy smile appear on his face. “Yeah. He did. You’re an asshole, you know.”

“How the fuck am I the asshole?” Bee asked. In the background, Crowley could hear pots and pans clattering loudly. “S’cuse me a sec, Crowley. HASTUR, YOU NUMB FUCK, USE THE GODDAMN SPATULA! Sorry. New hires, can’t find their asses with both hands but think they can cook. So explain my asshole status, asshole.”

“You should have told me how fucking hot he is.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. “Bee? Helllooo?”

“Sorry, just trying to process what you just said. Almost sounded as if you called Fell hot.”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, I did. He’s fucking gorgeous, Bee. He’s got hair like a cloud on a summer day, and his eyes are this beautiful shade of blue, and he’s so..soft looking. Like I could snuggle up to him and he would be the world’s best blanket. He’s got this smile that just lights up a room, and...”

“The guy dresses like he’s out of some fucking Dickens novel.”

“I know, he’s so sexy!”

Bee snorted. “To each their own, I guess. Just remember he’s there to cook for you, not keep your dick wet.”

“I know.” Crowley growled, hating that fact. Never mind that it had never been remotely a problem before now. “Thank you anyway, jerk.”

“You’re welcome, dumbass.” Bee sounded slightly less snarly, which was practically fond for them.

Crowley laid back on the couch, hand over his eyes. “Okay, Crowley. All you have to do is keep yourself from falling for the most perfect man to ever walk into your flat.”

He had the feeling that would be easier said than done.

Aziraphale hoisted the basket in his hands, waving off the offer of the very nice cashier for help. Crowley’s flat was only a block away, and Aziraphale was much stronger than his frame suggested. People who saw him tended to dismiss him as soft, but one did not grow up in the home he had and not develop some skills at self defense. Aziraphale had learned very quick that if he didn’t defend himself, he’d regret it.

Crowley had been right about one thing. When the grocers found out he was working for Crowley, they had indeed bent over backward for him. In fact, they had been downright sympathetic, telling stories of other chefs that had cooked for Crowley and the fates that had befallen them(six fired, three quit, and one arrested after being caught rummaging through Mr. Crowley’s desk in his study). Aziraphale, who prided himself at being able to handle anything life threw at him, took it all in stride.

He pushed his way into the flat, reminding himself to ask Crowley for a key. He set his purchases down on the counter, then became aware of a strange sound. He followed the sound to its source, and felt a smile rise unbidden.

Crowley was stretched out on the sofa, legs dangling off the edge and arms above his head. His sunglasses, which Aziraphale had noticed that morning, were still perched firmly on his face. He looked utterly at peace, and he was making snuffling sounds. It was, quite frankly, utterly adorable.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Aziraphale went into the kitchen and began the task of planning out the menu for the week. It was rather harder than usual, as his mind kept drifting to red hair, sharp cheekbones, and long, long legs. “Control yourself, Aziraphale. The man is a client, nothing more. So get any ideas out of your head. Besides, it’s not as though someone as drop dead gorgeous as Crowley would even consider me.”

And on the couch, Crowley smiled as he dreamed of an angel feeding him, giving him sweet kisses in between each course.


	2. Whetting The Appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More yummy food and glimpses of the past.

Chapter Two: Whetting The Appetite

Crowley twitched in his sleep as his dream changed. One minute he was lounging on a couch with an angel kneeling next to him feeding him all sorts of delicacies, the next he was back in that Jeep on that Day. His face twisted, and his hands came up, pushing at empty air as if trying to ward something off.

His body spasmed, and he cried out incoherently. With a sudden jerk, he shot awake, his forehead nearly colliding with Aziraphale’s nose. The chef jumped back just in time, a contrite expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, dear! I was about to wake you and tell you I’ve made lunch.”

Crowley blinked groggily at him, still caught in the threads of nightmare and memory. “Bwuh?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Lunch. I made you chilled cucumber soup and a bread free ham sandwich with cheddar, since your folder said that you could digest cheddar with no problem. Artisan, of course. I would never use generic ham or cheese. For drink I bought some lovely cider. You can drink cider, right?”

Crowley nodded. “Er, yeah. Never had cucumber soup before.” He staggered to his feet and swayed into the kitchen. Behind him, Aziraphale shoved his fist in his mouth and firmly told himself to stop watching his client’s legs. “Not a big fan of cucumbers, me.”

Aziraphale followed him into the dining area, where two places were set at the table. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Er, yes, well, I got a bit peckish myself, and so I made enough for two. I hope I’m not overstepping, because I could eat in the kitchen if...”

“Nah, you’re good.” Crowley waved a hand in dismissal and sat down, staring into the green depths of his soup. The smell was rather nice. Arranged in a flower shaped pattern on a plate were five ham and cheddar wraps, neatly pinned in place by toothpicks. A glass of cider sat next to it, and atop a folded paper towel was a spoon. Crowley picked it up and swirled the soup. “What’s this white stuff?”

Aziraphale placed his own towel under his chin. “Hmm? Oh, normally it’s cream, but yours is coconut milk. I sampled a bit and it makes for a lovely contrast with the cucumber. I also threw in a dash of garam masala for taste.”

Crowley, who knew for a fact that the only spices he’d ever had in his flat were salt and pepper, frowned. “What’s um...what you said?”

“Garam masala? It’s an Indian spice. Sort of like… a combo of cinnamon and some other flavors. It’s very mild. I noticed you had a dearth of spices, so I bought some. Don’t worry, I use them quite sparingly. You can trust me, I promise.”

Crowley snorted, but lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a sip of soup. The first thing that hit him was the cool taste, cucumber mixed with something else. “There mint in this?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Just enough to give it that flavor. What do you think?”

“I think it’s fucking delicious.” Crowley said, going in for another spoonful. Aziraphale beamed, took his own spoonful and stuck it in his mouth.

Eating soup is not sexy. So Crowley could not explain why, while watching the spoon disappear between those plump pink lips, he suddenly began to sweat. The spoon reappeared, soup free, and Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. Crowley sucked in a breath.

Then. Aziraphale **moaned.** It was a moan that was more suited for the bedroom, and Crowley went stiff all over. Blushing, he looked down at his crotch and hissed for his cock to behave itself. “So, how’d you become a chef?” He asked, hoping to god his voice wasn’t squeaking.

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth. “Oh, well, I’ve always loved food. I used to spend hours looking at my mother’s cookery books. Once in a while I’d even attempt a recipe. They...didn’t always go over so well.”

Crowley picked up a ham and cheese roll, taking a bite. God, even his ham and cheese was the best Crowley had ever had. “Can’t believe that. Bet you were a master from the start.”

Aziraphale sipped his cider. “That’s very kind of you, but in truth my first attempts were nothing short of unmitigated disasters. But Mother encouraged me to keep trying, and I gradually got better. I even ended up going to culinary school.”

Crowley took a drink. “Bee, the...person that rec’d you to me, said you used to work at the Garden of Eden?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Yes, and it was the worst mistake I ever made. The owner is a pretentious blowhard who has his head so far up his ass that he’s looking out his nose, and who does not know a souffle from a saboyan. I hated every second I worked there.”

Crowley, who had no idea what those two items were either, shrugged. “Eh, running a restaurant is hard work.”

“Yes, and that ass didn’t do any of it. Left it to me, my other chefs, and the rest of the staff while he went around slapping the backs of any rich person that walked in the door. I only stayed for as long as I did out of some misguided sense of loyalty.”

Crowley smirked. “Oh? Owner an old flame?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Hardly. He’s my brother.”

Crowley gaped. “Brother? Gabriel Arch is your brother?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Unfortunately. I took Mother’s maiden name when I started Fell’s Fine Dining, so as not to be associated with the Eden name.” He smiled wickedly. “I also took half the kitchen staff with me, including my sous chef Adam.”

Crowley polished off the last of the soup. “So it’s not just you?”

“Heavens no. I’ve got...last count it was twelve, I believe, chefs working under me. One man cannot handle all the requests I get.”

“So why not send one of your lackeys to cook for me? Why come yourself?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Because you’re a difficult case, and I make a point of handling those myself. I specialize in creating meals for those with autoimmune disorders and severe allergies. It’s a task I wouldn’t trust to anyone else, no matter how highly I may think of those who work for me.”

Crowley ate the last roll. “Well, so far you’re two for two on the best meals I’ve ever had. Can’t wait to see what you’re making for dinner.”

Aziraphale wiggled happily, and Crowley felt his heart do that treacherous lurch again. “Oh, I started dinner this morning. I’m marinating short ribs in wine and some herbs, and when they’re ready I’m going to cook them in a pot with some radishes, potatoes, and carrots. It will be quite lovely, I assure you.”

Crowley was trying his best to not drool all over the table. “Yeah, sounds good. Listen, um, I can get stuff cleaned up. I...if you want. I didn’t um, well, you don’t have to clean up after me. I am capable of that much.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “I never got the impression you weren’t.”

“Thanks. Uh...I’m gonna just um...get my stuff clean and then umm...study. I mean, I’ll be in my study, not I’m going to study, I graduated years ago, don’t need to study for anything, I’ll just...” Blushing furiously, Crowley grabbed up his plate, glass, and bowl and nearly ran to the kitchen. He deposited his load in the sink, turned on the hot water, then went over and banged his head against the wall. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Yeah, he had really proven himself to be the model of suaveness and sophistication out there, hadn’t he? There went any hope he had of impressing that gorgeous angel with his witty words.

He rinsed the utensils off and placed them in the drying rack, then noticed a sheet of paper neatly taped to the fridge. He went over, bending down a bit so he could read it.

**Meals for the Week** it said in neat, precise copperplate handwriting. Crowley continued reading.

**Monday breakfast: Egg-free breakfast bowl with sausage**

**Monday lunch: Cream of mushroom soup(‘note-be sure mushrooms are cooked all the way through) with a roast beef on gluten free rye bread(check with Adam about making fresh gluten free bread for C)**

**Monday dinner: Braised roasted chicken with new potatoes and carrots**

Crowley’s stomach was growling in anticipation. He was about to keep reading when he heard footsteps and a voice say in a mock disappointed tone, “Oh drat, and I wanted to surprise you.”

Crowley straightened, grinning. “Not a good place for surprises, the fridge. Anyone can see the list.”

Aziraphale chuckled. He went over to the sink and washed up before walking over and plucking the list off the fridge, tucking it neatly away in the folder that sat on the counter. “There. At least the rest of the week will be a surprise. Unless you read those too.”

“Nah, you came in before I had the chance.”

Aziraphale bent down to get some Tupperware out of a cabinet. Crowley stuck his fist in his mouth and tried not to moan too hard at the perfect plump ass being presented to him. Aziraphale straightened and began doling the leftover soup into the Tupperware. “So whossat for?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I have a standing contract with a few of the local homeless shelters. We have a free meal once a week, and I also give them whatever leftovers I may have. That is, if you don’t mind. I have had clients in the past who were...less than philanthropic, to put it mildly.”

Crowley mentally ticked another box in the ‘Real Living Angel’ scorecard in his head. “Nah, it’s cool. Better it get eaten then end up in the bin.”

“Indeed. Now, I’m going to go drop these off, then I have some personal errands to run. I should be back in about three hours. If you get peckish, I made you a cheese and fruit tray. It’s under the foil in the fridge. I also tossed those awful gherkins. They were really quite withered. Are they the only kind of pickle you eat?” Crowley nodded. “I’ll pick up some fresh ones while I’m out. Toodle pip!”

Crowley nearly combusted from the sheer adorableness of it all. “Yeah, bye.” The flat door opened, then closed, and Crowley sank to the floor, head in his hands. Fuck, he was such a fucking loser.

The sound of his mobile going off in the next room made him stand, and after digging in the sofa, he pulled it out and swiped to answer. “Hey Anathema. What’s the next assignment?”

Anathema, the owner of a magazine that printed ‘human interest’ stories alongside ‘true’ tales of UFOs, Bigfoot, and other phenomena, sighed. “Guy claims that he had a close encounter with an extraterrestrial.”

Crowley nodded, already hunting for his notepad and pen. “Right. So, what angle am I going for here? Rube, city dweller, what?”

“Crowley. The guy wants a one on one interview. In person.”

Crowley froze. “What? No, Ana, you know I can’t, I mean, I can do it over Skype, or Zoom, or hell, even Google Chat, but...no, no in person interviews. Can’t you have whossis name, Lizard do it and then mail me the transcript?”

“Newt, Crowley. And no. He’s busy working on the piece about the girl who claims to be a mermaid. And I’m not sending my boyfriend to do your grunt work. Look, it’ll take an hour, tops. I’ll text you the guy’s address.”

“No Ana wait---” but it was too late. The phone went dead, and Crowley groaned. A few seconds later, the phone dinged, and Crowley gazed at the address that popped up on screen. His mouth went dry and he felt himself start to shake. “Okay, Anthony, you can do this. It’s two blocks away. That’s nothing. There’s no reason to think anything will happen. Just one block. Just...out the door, down the stairs, and outside. It’s a nice day. You can do this. You can do this. You’ll be outside for twenty minutes, tops. That’s a cakewalk.”

He grasped his front door with shaking hands, then took a deep, deep breath and opened it, stepping over the threshold into the hall.

The vertigo hit him like a freight train, squeezing his lungs and forcing the breath from his body. He clenched his fists and willed himself to keep going. The hall doubled and trebled in his vision, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Keep. Going.” He told himself, teeth clenched.

One step. Two, and now he was in front of the lift. He began breathing fast, nearly hyperventilating, and ran as fast as he could toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. He skidded to a stop in front of the ground floor doors, staring with wide eyed terror at the world outside. “Get a hold of yourself, damn it! You can do this. It’s good to try and go outside once in a while. Helps. That’s what doctors say. Work through trauma.” He pushed the doors open and stepped out.

Noise. So much noise, so bright, so hot, and Crowley found himself transported from a London street in summer to a camp in Afghanistan, a camp so hot that he had stripped down to the waist, his camera slung over his shoulder, and the sky shimmering with haze. There had been a soldier, Mark, and there had been stolen kisses in empty barracks and once, a liaison in a cheap but clean motel. There had been, if not love, at least the promise of love. Then…

Crowley came back to himself in his flat, curled up on his side as he gasped and sobbed for breath. “Mark...” he choked out. “I’m so sorry...”

“Who’s Mark?”

Crowley shot up. Aziraphale was standing in the door, looking very concerned. “When’d you get back?”

“Just a few moments ago. Are you alright?”

Crowley opened his mouth to say yes, of course he was. “I...no. I’m not.”

Aziraphale smiled gently at him. “Why don’t I put these on the counter and then we can sit and talk?” Crowley nodded agreement.

Aziraphale set the groceries down, put up any perishable items, then went into the living room. Crowley was sitting cross legged on the sofa, staring into space. “Crowley?”

“I used to be an investigative journalist. You know, find the hard hitting stories and bring them to the public. I also took my own photos, when I had to. About...eight years ago, I got attached to a unit in Afghanistan. My job was to report on what life was like for the soldiers there. So off I went. It was no picnic, let me tell you. Horrible conditions, very unfriendly locals, and of course the constant threat of attack. But there was this one soldier. His name was Mark, and he was...fascinating. He’d been on tour before, so he was a bit jaded, but still believed what he was doing was right. I found myself attracted to him, but I didn’t dare make a move.”

“What happened?”

Crowley touched his lips. “He made the first move. Cornered me in the barracks while it was empty and kissed me. After that, we’d meet in secret. It never went further than kissing while we were on the base, but one night he managed to sneak us off and to a motel. The place smelled like mildew, but it was one of the best nights of my life. We were...starting to talk seriously about getting a flat together when Mark’s tour was up. Then...” Crowley’s breath hitched. “We were driving back to the base one day when the Jeep hit an IED. I got thrown through the windscreen and got my front and back cut all to Hell. Mark was...he was...” Crowley began sobbing. “There wasn’t even enough of him to send home!!!” He screamed.

Aziraphale came over and sat next to him, wrapping his arms around the sobbing man. Crowley stiffened for a second, then with a heart wrenching howl buried himself in the chef’s soft confines, his body shaking as he sobbed harder than he had since Mark died. “I...loved him. He was such an amazing person, and he...I saw him die. I came home after that, but..every time I went outside, I’d find myself back there, and I’d see Mark everywhere. So I just...stopped. I can’t go outside now without collapsing. I don’t...I **don’t even have a bloody picture of him!** ”

“Oh, Crowley. I am so, so sorry.” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s spine. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose someone like that.”

“Hurt. So much.” Crowley whimpered, tightening his grip on Aziraphale. He had been right, the man was the perfect shape for cuddling. “First...real relationship, where I thought I could...not scare him off. He was...gonna learn to cook, so we could have stuff we both could eat. Also...liked my eyes.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself. “You know, I haven’t seen your eyes. Would you…?”

Crowley nodded and pulled off his glasses. Aziraphale gasped.

“Oh, Crowley, they’re lovely. Such a beautiful gold color. And such unique pupils. Coloboma?”

“Yeah. Most people don’t know what that is.”

“I’ve got a cousin with it. But she doesn’t have those golden eyes. They’re so lovely.”

Crowley was crimson down to his toes. “Shut up and go get that cheese thingy you made. I’m hungry and I want to share with you.”

“As you wish, dear boy.” Aziraphale went to fetch the tray. Crowley took a deep breath.

He could feel his heart waking up.


	3. Bitter and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley opens up some more, our boys have a cuddle, and Aziraphale has an unpleasant encounter.

Chapter Three: Bitter and Sweet

The aroma of cooking bacon wafted through the flat and into the nose of one Anthony J Crowley, who sat up in his large, comfortable bed, waking him from a very nice dream where he had been sleeping, an angelic chef tangled up in his arms. In the dream, Aziraphale had smelled like violets and been so incredibly warm and soft. Crowley had pulled him close, inhaling the scent.

So caught up was he in his dream that for a half second before he fully woke up he had reached out for the chef. His hands met empty air, and he blinked awake, seeing as always the vast emptiness of his bed. A wave of longing and melancholy swept over him.

He hadn’t felt an attraction this strong, this magnetic, since Mark. Aziraphale was, in many ways, just like the soldier had been. Both were fiercely intellectual. For Mark, it had shown in the crossword puzzles that he would do whenever he could find the time. With Aziraphale, it was books. The chef was a voracious reader, devouring literature without regard to genre. One night over dinner, Aziraphale had confessed that before life set him on the path to becoming a chef, he had wanted to open a bookstore specializing in rare and antique books. Both had ways of secretly smiling that made Crowley’s insides flutter whenever the smile was directed at him. Most of all, both had somehow known how to put up with his melancholic temper.

Crowley splashed water on his face, wincing as he remembered one incident about a week ago. Aziraphale had made chicken curry for dinner. Crowley had been in a foul mood already, thanks to Anathema calling and chewing him out for not interviewing the alien abductee, his next door neighbor stealing his newspaper and the bloody landlord not doing a damn thing about it(and Crowley subsequently working himself into a panic attack from being forced to confront the very large and very shouty man), and it bloody raining for the third bloody day in a row. The sight of the dish that had led to the firing of his previous chef and the entry of Aziraphale into his life had overwhelmed him and he had thrown the plate against the wall, screaming that Aziraphale was trying to kill him and to get the fuck out of the flat.

Instead, Aziraphale had silently cleaned up the mess and gone into the kitchen, returning with a plate piled high with sliced apples and pears. “Here, eat that at least so I know you got some food in you. I am sorry about the curry. I’ll put it on the No List.” The No List was a list of meals that had gone over like a lead balloon. (Granted, it wasn’t a very long list) “Would you like something else? I could whip up a quick seafood stew. I think there’s still some salmon and hake left over from Thursday.”

Crowley finished his bathroom routine and went out into the kitchen, smiling to himself at the sight of Aziraphale at the stove, humming a tune as he expertly flipped the bacon. Crowley had an overwhelming urge to drape himself over the chef and nuzzle on those little hairs he had noticed on his neck. He planted his feet and settled for a casual, “Morning, Angel.”

His brain caught up with his mouth and he froze, his body going red. Shit.

Aziraphale turned, smiling. “Morning..oh dear lord.” The chef’s eyes were wide, his jaw nearly on his chest. “Crowley, you...you...” he wiped his mouth. “I...think you may have forgotten something.”

What could he have...the cool air of the flat hit him, and he looked down. “Oh fuck.” He had forgotten a shirt. Blushing furiously, he ran into the bedroom and grabbed a shirt out of his dresser and yanked it on. _‘Well, there goes any chance you may have had. Aziraphale was repulsed by your scars. There’s no way he’s going to want to touch you now. Might as well face it, you’re an ugly, worthless waste who could never land someone as wonderful as Aziraphale. Worthless, scarred, broken...’_

Crowley wasn’t aware he had been crying until he felt a hand on the middle of his back. He jerked away from the touch, curling up into a ball.

“Crowley?”Aziraphale’s voice was soft. “Dear, will you look at me?” A shake of the head. “Why not?”

“S’wmyscrs. Think I’m ugly.”

“Oh, Crowley, no. I could never think that of you. You’re beautiful.”

Crowley sniffled and shook his head. “Not. You...were repulsed.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s back again. This time, Crowley didn’t pull away.

“I was **surprised.** There’s a difference. I guess I wasn’t expecting them to be so, well...”

“Extensive?” Crowley asked bitterly. “Yeah, most people don’t either. And when they do see them, their reaction is pretty much like yours was. The jaw drops, and they look at me like...like I’m this monster.”

“You are not a monster. You are a man who had something terrible happen to him, through no fault of yours.” Aziraphale rubbed circles on his back. “Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?”

“What?” Aziraphale’s touch was so soothing. 

“I see a man who lost so much, and yet still keeps going. I see someone with a fierce intellect who can hold his own in a debate. I see a man with the most wicked sense of humor I’ve ever come across, and who can make my insides squirm with just a smile. I see someone who, when confronted by a bully, still managed to stand up to him.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, then went into a panic attack as soon as he got back to his flat.”

“My point is that you confronted him, not that you had the attack. That took a great deal of courage to do that. In all truth, I could not have done it at all. I despise confrontation. You may have broken down after, but you still did it. You’re a lot stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Crowley had, by now, fully uncurled himself, and he was sitting cross legged on the bed, Aziraphale behind him. “I don’t feel brave.” He whispered. “I used to, back...before. I would go anywhere a story could be found. Now I can’t...I can’t even go out of my flat without feeling like I’m being suffocated. I used to go out every night, did you know that? Not to eat, the risk of cross contamination was always too much, but I’d go and have a few drinks, maybe even bring some bloke back here. The latter happened a lot less than the former. I..after I came back, I tried going out to a bar. I had to leave after about five minutes, the noise was just...it was too much. I had a panic attack in the parking lot. As for bringing someone back here for a quick fuck...” Crowley hugged himself. “I...couldn’t. Not just because of the scars, but because...”

“You didn’t want to betray Mark’s memory.” Aziraphale said softly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Tell me about him?” Aziraphale inquired. Crowley sucked in a breath. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to know.”

Crowley shivered. “Umm...wait, what ‘bout breakfast?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I have it on low, no worries. I won’t let it burn.”

Crowley nodded. “Mark was...he was tall, like me, with more muscles, though. He had green eyes and hair that was so black it seemed to shimmer in the sun. He had a tattoo of a mermaid on his right arm, and a scar on his left from when he had gotten in a bar fight in college and thrown through a window. He had this smile that made everyone else smile. Kind of...kind of like your smile.” 

Behind him, Aziraphale blushed. “Thank you, my dear. Anything else?”

“Yeah. He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, and yet he loved to sing. He drove everyone crazy with it. He was addicted to Hershey’s chocolate. He had a relative in the States who worked for Hershey and would send Mark **cartons** of the stuff. He’d tear through six bars in twelve seconds, I swear. The rest of us couldn’t fathom how he could eat it. His nose crinkled when he laughed.

When we’d...when we kissed, he always put his hand on the back of my neck, just enough so I could feel it. Looking back, I’m almost sure we were an open secret. I’d never made secret the fact I was gay, but...”

“Not everyone was fully accepting?”

“Yeah. Oh, I never got anything nasty directed at me, but there was this...underlying current of ‘don’t broadcast it’. It’s part of the reason why I hid my attraction to Mark for as long as I did.”

“And why you would meet in secret?”

“Yeah. It’s also why we just had the one night at the hotel. Risk of being caught out was too much. So we made the most of it. Made love until the sun came up.” Crowley laughed at a memory. “When we got back, the M.Ps caught us. CO chewed our asses out for going AWOL, and confined us both to the barracks. My protests that I was technically not a soldier fell on deaf ears.”

Aziraphale giggled. “That must have been a terrible punishment, confined to barracks with your lover. Whatever did you do?”

“We laid together in his bed and just...talked. I was nearly in love with him by that point, and he felt the same. We talked about what we were going to do when the tour was over, and my story was printed, about how we both wanted to find a quiet place to live. I was going to have a garden, and Mark wanted goats. We talked for hours, kissing in between.” Crowley’s breath hitched. “The...next day...”

Hesitantly, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley. 

Crowley went stiff for half a second before melting into Aziraphale’s embrace, turning and pressing his face into the chef’s shoulder. “M’sorry I called you Angel.”

“Oh, I rather liked it. You can...keep calling me that, if you wish.”

“okay.” Crowley’s voice was muffled by Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Do you...have to go anywhere today?”

“Well, I need to go to the market for a bit, and I was going to stop by my shop and check on things, but that shouldn’t take me more than a few hours. Why?”

Crowley pressed himself closer. “I just...um...need you here.” He whispered. Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. Crowley shivered, then sighed. “Stay with me? Please?” 

Aziraphale shifted position so he was sitting against the headboard. Crowley embraced him, wrapping himself around the chef and laying his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to. I promise.” 

‘As long as you want’ turned out to be ten minutes, after which Crowley could no longer ignore his growling stomach.

Breakfast turned out to be bacon and gluten free pancakes(Crowley still was amazed at how Aziraphale could make gluten free anything actually taste good) with a side bowl of Aziraphale’s homemade oatmeal and fresh honey, and a cup of black coffee. Crowley scraped both plate and bowl clean and drained his coffee. “So good..”

“Thank you, my dear. Do you still need me to stay?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be okay. Just um...don’t stay out too long?” He asked shyly. 

“I shall endeavor to return post haste.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley grinned at him. Aziraphale came over and kissed Crowley on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He left, leaving a gobsmacked Crowley sitting at the dining table, his hand on his cheek and his eyes blown wide with shocked happiness. 

In the lift. Aziraphale groaned to himself. Why in all the hells of Dante had he kissed the man? True, it had just been on the cheek, but still. Aziraphale had a hard and fast rule. You do not get personally involved with a client. It was one he drilled into his employees’ heads over and over. No matter how cute, sexy, or hot you may think the client is, you are there to do a job. You cook, nothing more. 

Aziraphale sighed. God, he was such a fucking hypocrite. The minute he’d seen Crowley, two weeks ago, he had been incredibly attracted to him. The red hair, the long, long legs encased in those tight jeans, the long fingers that were so expressive when Crowley talked, the golden eyes that held Aziraphale like a snake holds a mouse, and all the sharp curves and angles of him. 

As he got to know the journalist better, he found his physical attraction evolving into something more, something deeper. He wanted Crowley, wanted him more than he had ever wanted any man, but he also would be content with just  **being** with him. Crowley had slotted himself into Aziraphale’s life with such ease that it felt as though they had always been meant to find each other. 

The lift dinged, and Aziraphale stepped out into the lobby and walked out into the sunshine. He flagged down a cab, giving the driver the address of his catering business. Best to check on that first, in case anything needed his handling. 

The place was bustling when he walked in. Behind the counter, Adam’s wife Eve, already gone six months with their first child( a girl, as revealed by the latest ultrasound), deftly took orders from the throng of customers. Aziraphale wove his way through the crowd and fixed her with a mock glare. “Young lady, what have I told you about not working too hard?”

Eve laughed. “Oh, this kid’s tough, like her Momma. She can handle it.” 

Aziraphale came back behind the counter, staring at Eve’s rounded stomach and speaking in a firm tone.”You better not give your mother any trouble, young lady.” 

“Oh, she’s being good as gold. She kicked last night!” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Did she? How did Adam react?”

“Oh, he’s still over the moon about it.” 

“I bet he is. He back there?” Aziraphale pointed to the kitchen. Eve nodded. Aziraphale kissed her on the cheek and went through the swinging doors to the kitchen proper. 

“Hey boss man!”Adam said, looking up from the steaming pot of dumplings he was cooking. “How goes the private gig?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Er...it’s...going well. Very very well.” He pointedly avoided saying that he was pretty certain he was madly in love with Crowley. “Mr. Crowley is...an interesting person.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Adam asked, scooping out the dumplings and placing them on a rack to cool. “Wanna try one? I infused the lamb with some mint and fennel.”

Aziraphale came over to Adam’s station. “Good interesting.” He picked up a still steaming dumpling and took a bite. He chewed, then swallowed. “Very good, but the fennel is a bit strong. Tone it down just a touch, and add just a bit more mint. The lamb is perfect, though, and your dough is very good. Are you making a sauce to go with?”

“Yeah, thought maybe something like a raspberry mint sauce might work.”

Aziraphale thought. “Hmm. That could work, but maybe also throw in some balsamic so the sauce isn’t overwhelmingly sweet. Oh, before I forget, did you remember to  check the hive boxes?”

Adam nodded. “Yep, and the bees are doing fine. Honey should be ready for harvesting by next week, at the earliest.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and Eve told me about the baby kicking.”

Adam’s entire body lit up. “Yeah, it was amazing, you know? I’m gonna be a dad.”

“Thought of any names yet?”

Adam shook his head. “Nah, not yet.” 

Aziraphale was about to say something when Eve poked her head into the kitchen, a grave look on her normally cheerful face. “Uh, Zira, we got a problem.” 

“What sort of...”

“Azzziirappphalleee!” 

“Problem. Fuck me with a cactus.” Aziraphale groaned, then took a deep, calming breath before stepping out into the shop. “Gabriel. What the fuck do you want.”

Gabriel smiled. “ What, I can’t come and see my baby brother?”

Aziraphale glared at him. “No, you can’t. You never have, not without some sort of agenda. So, I’ll ask you again. What the fuck do you want?” 

Gabriel’s false smile vanished like snow under the sun. “Fine. I’ve come to ask, once more, if you will put aside this stupid...grudge you’ve been carrying and come back to Eden.”

“Had another chef walk out, have you?” Aziraphale asked waspishly. “What’s that, nine chefs in as many years? My my, that’s not a very good record.”

Gabriel slammed his hands on the counter. Aziraphale didn’t flinch. “Damn it, Aziraphale, what is it going to take for you to come back?!”

“A fucking miracle, and those are in short supply.”

“Look, just because you have a grudge against me...”

“Oh, it’s more than a grudge,” Aziraphale hissed so vehemently that Gabriel took a step back. “You belittled me constantly growing up. I only went into business with you because some naive part of me really thought we could make a go of it. You were forever overruling any changes I suggested, changes that would have allowed Eden to truly thrive. You never once let me create a recipe without criticizing the final result. Oh, and let’s not forget all the thinly veiled homophobic slurs, the constant suggestion that I was fucking all the male staff, and the condescending way you would treat any same sex couple that came in by saying ‘You know, I have a brother that’s...that way’ and laughing that fucking **obnoxious** laugh you have. The only thing I regret about leaving was that it took me so long to do it. But I did, and I’m so much better for it. So if you don’t mind, I’d love it if you would get the fuck out of my shop.”

Gabriel’s face was thunderous. “Fine. But I warn you, this is my last offer.”

“Thank fuck for that.” Aziraphale pointed to the door. “Out.” Gabriel stormed out, and Aziraphale rubbed his face. “Fuuck.” Seeing Gabriel always put him in a foul mood for the rest of the day. “Adam, I’m taking off!”

“See ya, Boss Man!” Adam shouted. 

Aziraphale’s mood hadn’t lightened one whit by the time he finished the shopping and headed back to Crowley’s flat. Muttering under his breath, he opened the door, walked in, and set the bags on the kitchen counter. “God damn that condescending asshole bastard!”

“Everything okay?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale turned and sighed.

“It will be. I’m always in a bit of a tizz after any meeting with my asshole brother. He comes by the shop at least once a month to ask me to come back to Eden.”

Crowley snorted. “Take it you say no?”

“Emphatically. Repeatedly.” Aziraphale began to put away the groceries. He opened the cupboard to put up the salt when he felt Crowley embrace him from behind. 

“Good. I don’t want you to leave me.” 

‘ _ **Never**_ ,’ Aziraphale thought. 


	4. From A Simmer To A Boil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up for the boys, and Anathema makes an appearance.

Chapter Four: From A Simmer To A Boil

Aziraphale blinked awake, feeling a wave of disorientation that heralded a hangover. Where was he? This was most decidedly not his own bed. His bed was on the smaller side, size wise(Aziraphale was sure it was two twin beds shoved together to make one) and had Aziraphale’s favorite tartan blanket draped over the foot for easy access if the night turned chilly. This bed was enormous, easily a king, and very much more comfortable than his bed, which was a bit lumpy, but still comfortable.

There was something pressing against him. Something very warm and very solid. Aziraphale swallowed, and the something warm pressed closer, a contented, happy sigh coming from behind the chef. ‘Shit’. It was Crowley, there was no way it wasn’t Crowley. But then that meant…

“Oh, shit.” Aziraphale whispered. He was in Crowley’s bed. He was in bed. With Crowley. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he whispered frantically, trying to remember the sequence of events last night.

Aziraphale had come home with some rather good brandy for himself and a bottle of rice wine for Crowley. The journalist had been very grateful, pulling him into a tight hug that did all sorts of wonderful things to Aziraphale’s insides. After a very nice dinner of a seafood stew made with coconut cream and baked apples with honey for dessert, they had opened up the bottles, poured themselves a drink, and went to the sofa.

After the third-or fourth drink of the wine Crowley had started babbling about dolphins. “Big..big brains, daw..du..dolphins. Damn big brains. Whales too. Brain city, whales. Speakin of...likd the boulla...thingummy you made for dinner.”

Aziraphale was already well into his cups. Brandy affected him more than most spirits. “Fid...Fish stew. Spez...Speka...Specilty.Verra...pip...poop..popul’r.”

“Liked it. Also liked appaple. Apple.” Crowley had set his cup down, somewhat clumsily, on the coffee table, and looked with drunken solemnity at Aziraphale. “Azz...Angel?”

“Yes, my- HIC- oh dear, do pardon me, yes my dear?” Aziraphale had asked, trying to focus and figure out which of the three Crowleys he was seeing was the real one.

“I’m going to kiss you.” Crowley said gravely, and Aziraphale felt his heart start to pound.

“Okay.” Was all that he managed. Crowley leaned forward, his lips puckered, and then…

“Oh, fuck.” Aziraphale groaned. If he and Crowley had gone and slept with each other while drunk Aziraphale would regret it for the rest of his life. He wanted to remember his first time with Crowley, wanted to tuck it away in a precious album in his memory as a cherished event to look back on. He didn’t want it to be a drunken event that he had no recollection of.

He looked down with trepidation. Okay. He had a shirt on. Logic followed that he was wearing his pajama trousers. Had he gotten dressed after? Fuck. Only one thing to do. Aziraphale prayed the bed’s other occupant had more recollection of the night before.

Aziraphale rolled over, gasping at the sight of a sleeping Crowley. He looked-so peaceful. Without realizing it, Aziraphale traced the lines of Crowley’s cheek with his hand, reveling in the softness of his skin. ‘God, he is so beautiful.’ “Crowley? Crowley, wake up.”

Crowley stirred, humming happily, and nuzzled into Aziraphale’s hand. “’Ngel..” He blinked awake, smiling softly. “Hey.”

“Crowley, I need to know if you remember what happened last night.”

Crowley blinked, still smiling the soft, gentle smile. “Mm hmm.”

Aziraphale let out a breath. “Oh, good. Did I...did we...um…?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nuh uh. I...ohhh my head...I passed out right when I was ‘bout to kiss you. Think maybe you carried me here.”

Aziraphale’s memory returned. He had picked up the prone journalist and carried him somewhat clumsily to bed. “So, why’m I here?”

Crowley blushed. It was a very fetching blush, and Aziraphale wanted to follow it with his tongue. “I woke up a bit when you were puttin’ me ta bed and...wouldn’t let go of you. You finally pried me off, but I kep’ reaching for you.”

“Ah, right. I remember now.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, so then you went an’ put on your jammies an’ came back here, sayin’ you’d stay wif me until I fell asleep proper. Helped me into my jams.”

“So we didn’t...” Crowley shook his head. “Oh, thank Heavens for that.”

Crowley felt a wave of hurt so powerful it staggered him. “Did...do you not...” He firmly told himself to not start crying.

“Oh, Crowley, darling, you misunderstand my relief.” Aziraphale said, cupping the tearful face in front of him. “I’m not relieved because we didn’t sleep together, I’m relieved we didn’t do it while drunk. I want to remember every detail of the first time we make love.”

Crowley was sure he was dreaming. Had this angel just said? “You...want to make love with me?”

“Very much,” Aziraphale said, a soft smile on his face. “In fact, I must confess that I find myself quite madly in love with you.”

Crowley whined high in his throat and smashed his lips against Aziraphale’s.

As far as kisses went, it wasn’t the most refined one. In fact, it was a bit clumsy, and more than a little wet. But it was the best damn kiss Crowley had had in a very long time. Aziraphale still tasted a bit like the brandy he’d been drinking, and he was making small whimpering sounds that Crowley found incredibly erotic. The kiss didn’t last long, maybe a few minutes, but for Crowley it felt like an eternity in paradise. “Wow,” he said, dazed and dizzy with love. “If that’s how good you kiss hungover, I cannot wait to experience kissing you while sober.”

Aziraphale’s head was in the clouds. “Neither can I. Speaking of, I have a wonderful hangover cure. Would you like me to make it for you?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Aziraphale stumbled out of bed and went into the kitchen. Crowley sighed, pressing his face into the pillow where Aziraphale’s head had been and breathing in the scent of him. Violets, just like in his dream. Aziraphale had been so soft, so warm, and for the first time in a very long time, Crowley had slept a sleep unbroken by nightmares in which he watched Mark die over and over.

After numerous angry visits from his landlord, his bully of a neighbor threatening to call the cops and have him hauled to the loony bin, and one late night visit from said police who had gotten a call about someone being murdered in his flat, Crowley had had his bedroom soundproofed. He still woke up screaming most nights, but at least now the only person to hear it was him.

Last night, Crowley had felt the burning sensation that always heralded another nightmare. The heat smell of the desert had invaded his nostrils, and his mind had started to slip into the darkness. But then...he had inhaled, and the scent of violets washed over him. Violets hadn’t been in the nightmares before. He inhaled again, and the violet smell grew stronger. He scooted closer, breathing in the calming scent.

Then this morning, he had woken up feeling like he had actually slept for the first time in a very, very long time. Smiling, Crowley got out of bed and went into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He did his business, then got dressed and went into the kitchen. A steaming mug of coffee sat at his place at the table, along with a plate piled high with ham, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. He blinked. “When did you find the time to make all this?” He was pretty sure he hadn’t been **that** long. 

Aziraphale flipped his eggs, sliding them onto a plate with his own portion of meat. “Oh, I made the pancake batter last night. Separate one for you, of course. The meat takes no time to cook. Carbs are the best thing to help hurry along sobriety, after all.”

Crowley smiled, taking a sip of coffee. One of these days he’d figure out how the hell Aziraphale managed to make it taste so damn good. His own efforts at coffee always ended up tasting like hot bean water. “When you said you had a hangover cure, thought you meant like a, whaddayacallit, homeopathic thing.”

“Oh, I do, but you wouldn’t be able to take it. It’s got a raw egg.”

Crowley grimaced. “Yeah, that would not be pretty. Last thing either of us need is me pukin’ my guts out and having to go to the A&E.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said before digging into his breakfast with gusto. Crowley smiled to himself. Watching Aziraphale eat was always so fascinating. He savored each bite. 

Crowley dug into his own breakfast, still keeping one eye on the chef. 

After the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, Aziraphale did a quick inventory of the fridge and pantry. He was planning on making Brunswick stew for dinner(albeit with beef and not the original ingredient of squirrel) and he wanted to make sure he had enough  vegetables. Also… “Crowley?”

“Yeah?” 

“You can digest tomato paste, right?”

“So long as it’s cooked, yeah. Raw tomatoes give me hives. Why?”

Aziraphale scribbled down ‘tomato paste’ on a sheet of paper. “Dinner planning. Want to make doubly sure you can eat what I’m making.” 

Crowley came into the kitchen, grinning. “Yeah? Whatcha making?”

“Brunswick stew. I had it when I was in Georgia a few years ago and absolutely loved it. For all the flak they get, the Americans really do have some delicious local dishes. I incorporated a lot of what I ate into the menu of Fell’s Fine Dining.” 

“Why’d you go to Georgia?”

Aziraphale examined a jar of cumin. “Hmm? Oh, it was a sort of..foodie tour, I guess you’d call it. I wanted to see what sort of food the Americans had come up with that might not have made it across the pond. My first stop was the Southeast. I had gator in Florida, and that was quite different. A bit chewy, but quite good. Carolinas I had this delicious concoction called she crab soup.”  He placed the cumin back in the cupboard. Crowley laughed softly. 

“Yeah, definitely couldn’t have tried that.”

“Indeed. Anyway, I would try different dishes and write down what I thought the ingredients were, then when I came home I tried my best to recreate what I had eaten. I wasn’t always a hundred percent successful, since some ingredients aren’t available over here, but I was able to find some decent enough substitutes. But, I’d say I hit the nail on the head about...eight times out of ten.” 

Crowley leaned against the counter next to him. Aziraphale looked over at him, a soft smile on his face. “Did you want something, Crowley?” 

“Yeah.” Crowley said. “Y’know how I said I couldn’t wait to find out what kissing you sober is like?”

Aziraphale gulped. “Yes.” He whispered, eyes fixed on Crowley’s lips. 

Crowley turned so he was fully facing the chef. He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “Well, I’m sober now, so may I?”

“ _Yes_.” Aziraphale breathed out. Crowley stroked his cheek with his thumb, then inclined his head and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. 

Oh. Oh god, his lips were so soft, and he tasted like the coffee he’d been drinking, and under that taste was the taste of cloves and spices. Aziraphale whimpered and Crowley deepened the kiss. Their hands came up and wrapped around each others’ waists, soft sighs and moans coming from both their mouths. Aziraphale chased Crowley’s whines and whimpers, relishing in the spice taste of him. Oh, he could spend hours, days, kissing this man and never tire of it.  He could feel the counter digging into his back, but he didn’t mind it one bit. 

Eventually, the need for air became paramount, and Crowley very reluctantly pulled out of the kiss. He gazed at Aziraphale, his eyes shining. “Angel, you are...fucking delicious. A gourmet meal in and of yourself.”

Aziraphale was dizzy with the rush of love. “Oh, my darling, so are you. A meal I want to savor and take my time enjoying.”

Crowley kissed him again. “Wanna...go...sofa?” He asked between kisses, and Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley took his hand, led him over to the sofa, then with a wicked grin shoved him down and straddled him. Aziraphale smirked up at him, running his hand up and down Crowley’s spine. “So that’s how it is, is it?” 

“Stop talking now.” Crowley intoned solemnly before grabbing Aziraphale’s shirt and proceeding to snog him senseless. 

The sound of someone pounding as hard as they could on the front door made Crowley look around, confusion and consternation written on every line of his face. “What the fuck?” 

Aziraphale was floating, his mind a pleasant haze from the kissing. “Ignore ‘em. More kisses.”

Crowley smiled and was about to obey this perfect angel when a voice called out. “Crowley, damn it, I know you’re in there! Open up!”

Crowley groaned. “Fuck. Hold on a sec!” He slid off Aziraphale, who whimpered in frustration. Crowley wrenched the door open, glaring at the person in the hall. “Miss Device, I thought I told you to never come here unless it was important.”

Anathema Device barged past him. “It’s very important! I want to know why the hell you didn’t do your job last week! All you had to do was interview the guy! He’s been calling nonstop asking what happened to you!” 

Crowley gulped. “Ana..I..couldn’t. Can’t.” 

Anathema sighed. “Look, I get that you’ve got this air of aloofness, or...I dunno, anti-social thing going, but that doesn’t mean you can welsh out on a job!”

Crowley blinked. “Is...is that what you think?! That I’m antisocial?!” The last word was nearly a shout. Aziraphale came into the room, concerned. 

“Crowley? Everything okay?”

Anathema looked over at him. “Who’re you?”

“Aziraphale.” He said bluntly, then addressed Crowley again. “Darling, is everything okay?”

Crowley took a breath and smiled bitterly. “Oh, just peachy, Angel. Apparently Miss Device is under the impression that rather than being an agoraphobic that goes into a panic attack whenever I set foot outside, and who therefore is mostly confined to my flat, I am instead simply ‘antisocial’ and ‘aloof’. I guess all those doctors and therapists were wrong, and I just needed to interview a kook who claimed to be anally probed by little green men to make myself better!” 

Anathema looked horrified. “I didn’t know!” She wailed. “You never brought it up in conversation, so I didn’t know! I just thought you were, you know, not a big people person!”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm. “She has a point, dear. It’s not something one brings up in casual conversation, especially not with one’s employer. I’m sure Miss Device meant no maliciousness.”

Crowley relaxed, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. “Yeah, s’pose you’re right. I should have found a way to tell you, Ana. You’re a good person and a good boss, and I’d hate to lose this gig. E specially since it is the easiest one I’ve ever had.”

Anathema smiled. “In future, if there’s person to person interviews, I’ll make sure they’re all conducted either over the phone or online. Now,” she said, and Crowley gulped at the gleam in her eyes. “Tell me, Aziraphale, what is your relationship with Crowley?”

“Err...well...I’m his private chef. He’s got allergies...”

“Yeah? Didn’t know that either. You a good cook?”

Crowley  smiled lovingly at him . “He’s an  **amazing** cook.” 

Aziraphale blushed. “Thank you, my dear.”

Anathema bit back a grin. “So, about the alien guy. I’ll have to do a bit of finagling, but I think I could get him to agree to a phone interview. But if not, I’ll go ahead and scrap the story. I’ve got other ones I can run in its place. I’m gonna head to the office and set things in motion. I’ll call you with any updates. Aziraphale, it was nice meeting you.” 

After she left, the two men sank onto the sofa, their arms around each other. Crowley leaned over, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “No one would hire me.”

“Hmm?”

“When I got back. No newspaper would hire me, because I couldn’t leave my home or work in an office without going into a major panic attack. So I started scouring for online gigs, writing I could do from home. I took freelance work here and there, writing articles about whatever my current employer wanted, but I felt..stifled by it. One thing I had loved about my job was how creative I could be. I used my words and my pictures to tell a story, and I wasn’t really able to do that in the confines of freelance work. I even tried ad copy for a few months, and let me tell you, that’s one of the best ways to become very jaded very quickly. Then about a year ago, I came across an ad for something called the Occult Times. I emailed them with a sample of my writing, and got an answer back within the hour. I was hired, and could I please write a piece about mermaids. It didn’t take me long to figure out Anathema’s method.”

“And what method is that?”

Crowley grinned. “I write bullshit, she prints it, and the readers eat it up with a spoon. Once in a great while I write something of actual substance, but mostly I spout bullshit. Her readers get the stories they want, she gets to be a magazine owner, and I get a paycheck deposited into my account every month.”

Aziraphale frowned. “And..it doesn’t bother you?”

“No. I’m not hurting anyone, I promise. If there’s a real story, I write that. But if it’s just a fluff piece, then yeah, I make it up. In all truth, it makes a nice change from my old job. I’m a writer, first and foremost. That doesn’t change, regardless of what the subject may be.”

“I suppose you have a point. You..wouldn’t happen to have any samples lying about?”

“Not from..before, no. I burned them all. Too many bad memories. But I tell you what. The next story Ana sends me, I’ll let you proofread before I send it off. How’s that sound?”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’d love to.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I propose we continue where we left off.” Crowley said with a smirk, slithering into Aziraphale’s lap. “Think you can remember where we were, Angel?”

Aziraphale gave him a smile that made Crowley gulp. “Oh, I believe so,” he whispered before pulling the writer into a searing kiss. 


	5. Not All Delights Are Culinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a Very Important Dream and Aziraphale has a surprise planned. Also, a wild Bee appears.

Chapter Five: Not All Delights Are Culinary

Crowley looked around at his surroundings, feeling incredibly confused. Where the hell was he? He was outside, which was odd enough. He also wasn’t panicking, which was even odder. Instead, he felt-like he was waiting for someone. He realized, belatedly, that he was sitting on a bench. So where was he? The place had an aura of almost-familiarity, but Crowley’s mind just wouldn’t work.

He looked again, trying to get his bearings. He was in some sort of park-garden-thing. There were trees, and there were flowers, and something shimmering on the horizon. Crowley inhaled, and the salt smell of the ocean reached his nostrils. So he was sitting on a bench, in a park, by the ocean. Okay. How the hell had he gotten here?

The sound of someone approaching made him turn around, and he gaped in open mouthed shock at the person who walked up to him, a cocksure smile on his face that Crowley would never, ever forget. “Hey Red.”

“M...Mark?” Crowley whispered, not daring to believe his eyes. Mark laughed, and oh that sound made Crowley’s heart start pounding. The soldier walked over to the bench. “You...you...how?”

“Scooch over, Red. I wanna sit and those sticks of yours are in my way.”

Crowley moved his legs, and Mark sat, stretching and looking out over the horizon. “Mark, how are you…?”

Mark turned and gave him a look that Crowley well remembered. It was the ‘I’m going to have to explain everything to you, aren’t I’ look. “Haven’t you figured it out, Red?”

Crowley had, but he hadn’t dared say it until now, some small part of him hoping beyond hope. “I’m dreaming.” He blinked, then began sobbing. “I miss you s...so much! I never...I never got to say goodbye, I couldn’t...go to the service, an...and...I just...miss you so much. I loved you so fucking much, you know?”

Dream-Mark pulled him close, and Crowley inhaled the desert scent of him. “I know, Red. I loved you too. You were the best thing about being stationed in that Hellhole. Made it bearable, you know? And man, that night in the hotel...”

Crowley buried his face in Mark’s chest, wailing. “I lost you the very next day! I woke up in the infirmary, and asked where you were, and...at first, the nurses wouldn’t tell me, no one would tell me, but I kept asking, and..that’s when...I wanted to die too, wanted to end it to be with you, but..I’m too much of a fucking coward.”

“Ahh, that’s bullshit, Red. You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Crowley sniffled. “That’s what...Aziraphale said that to me.”

Mark grinned. “Yeah? Seems like a wise fella, that Aziraphale. You like him?”

Crowley gulped. “I...I’m in love with him. Is that...I don’t know if I should be. I don’t want to...”

“Betray my memory?” Mark asked gently. Crowley nodded, throat bobbing as he held back tears. “Red, listen. What we had, it was amazing, definitely. But what you and this Aziraphale have, man, that’s like...if you and I were fireworks, you and him are like, a supernova. There’s no comparison. So you’re not betraying anything, especially not the memories you have of us. I loved you, and always will. But, babe, I’m **gone.**. You have this chance at a love that most poets would kill to write about. Don’t let it pass you up because of some misguided attempt at holding on to the past. Okay?”

Crowley blinked away the tears. “Okay.” 

Mark smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “That’s my Red. I love you, Anthony. Be happy.”

Crowley breathed in the desert scent once more before the scene faded and he opened his eyes. He swiped his hand over his face and was less than surprised when he felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks. He swung his legs out of bed and went in search of Aziraphale. He found the chef sitting on the sofa, a folder in front of him and his reading glasses perched on his nose. “Hmm, let’s see, I checked on the catering for Mrs. Danvers, Adam’s handling that, I need to stop by the fishmongers and get some hake and cod for the baked fish for tomorrow,  I need a carton of raspberries for tomorrow’s dessert, I...” 

Crowley softly cleared his throat. Aziraphale looked up, and immediately took off his glasses, placed them on the table, and opened his arms. Crowley came into his lap, winding himself around the chef’s softness. “What’s wrong, my love?” He asked, hand gently stroking Crowley’s spine. 

“Nothing. I...this is going to sound dumb, but I had a dream. About Mark. A...good one.”

“Yes? What was the dream, darling?”

Crowley told him. When he was done, he looked up at Aziraphale. “Dumb, right?”

“Quite the opposite, darling. It sounds like the sort of dream you needed.” 

“I won’t...I **can’t** ever forget him. He’s in my heart, always. A part of me was...falling in love with you was terrifying, because there was this voice that kept whispering that I was betraying him somehow, that if I fell in love with you, I wouldn’t...love him any more. But then he told me, in the dream, that...that wasn’t the case, that I wasn’t...betraying him. And he...told me something. He said that if he and I were fireworks, you and I are a supernova. He...god, I loved him. I loved him so much, and I love you more, and I’m elated, and terrified, and I don’t...I nearly lost the will to live when he died. If I lost you...” 

“Oh, my dearest love. I will never leave you willingly, I swear. I love you with a love that staggers me sometimes. It’s intoxicating, and terrifying, and elating all at the same time. You have become the world to me, Anthony.” 

Crowley blinked, then with a whine pulled Aziraphale into a desperate kiss. The chef kissed back, pulling Crowley closer. Crowley’s hands fumbled at the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning it and pushing it aside to reveal the firm chest, lightly dusted with blond hair. Aziraphale tugged at the bottom of Crowley’s Henley, pulling it up and over his head. Crowley pressed his chest against Aziraphale’s, rubbing against him much like a cat. “Need you...” He whined, pawing at Aziraphale’s crotch. “Need you...”

“Shh, shh my love. I’m here, my darling. What do you need, my sweet?”

“You. Just you. I want...” Crowley hesitated. They had kissed, and a few times had given each other a handjob, but so far that had been as far as it went. “I um...could I...”

Aziraphale smiled into the golden eyes. “Do you want to suck me, my love?” Crowley nodded. “Oh, sweetness, of course.” 

Crowley kissed his lips, then his chest, pressing his tongue to Aziraphale’s nipples. He kissed his way down,  sucking bruises into Aziraphale’s velvet soft skin. He knelt in front of the chef and kissed the already straining erection through the fabric of his trousers. Aziraphale moaned, hips bucking upwards. “Crowley...”

Crowley unbuttoned him, mouth watering as Aziraphale’s perfect cock was revealed. Crowley marveled at how long and wonderfully thick he was. “Oh, Angel...” He bent his head and pressed a searing kiss to the tip. Fuck, Aziraphale tasted so good. “Did I ever tell you I can do really weird things with my tongue?” He asked, smirking up at the chef. Aziraphale shook his head. “Wanna demonstration?”

“I would love...AAHHHH!!” Aziraphale cried out as Crowley swallowed him down, his tongue doing things that he wasn’t sure were humanly possible. “Oh my fucking god...” the chef choked out, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the sensations hit. “Oh god ‘Thony so fucking good oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Aziraphale was babbling. He was seeing stars. Crowley was doing things to his cock that defied description, things that were making Aziraphale’s entire body shake. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His entire world had coalesced into this one moment, Crowley on his knees in front of him, giving him the best fucking oral he had ever experienced. 

Aziraphale didn’t come so much as explode in volcanic ecstasy, a shriek coming from his mouth that he had never produced before. He fell back against the sofa, panting and shaking. He’d heard the phrase ‘sucked my brains out’, but he had never experienced it in real life. He felt limp. 

“So how’s that for a good morning?” Crowley asked, smiling impishly at him. Aziraphale, still reeling from the most powerful climax he had ever had, chuckled softly. 

“Best morning.” Crowley preened, and the chef rolled his eyes. “Get up here, my love.” Crowley climbed back into his lap, kissing him. “I love you.”

“Love you too. What’s for breakfast?” 

Aziraphale shoved him off, laughing. 

After a breakfast  consisting of what Aziraphale called his ‘hodge-podge’(sausage, potatoes and mushrooms all mixed together and cooked thoroughly with cheddar cheese sprinkled on top) and slices of fresh mango, the chef went into the kitchen to take the daily inventory. “Hmm, need to get more coconut milk, and should also pick up another thing of tarragon.”

“Just no eggs this time, yeah?” Crowley had come into the kitchen. He gently pushed past Aziraphale and took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, pouring himself a glass. Aziraphale winced. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing those here. My neighbor gave them to me, and I couldn’t very well say no thank you. I slipped up, and I’m just thankful I didn’t get you sick.”

Crowley came over and kissed him. “Hey, no real harm done. Least you haven’t brought peanuts or shellfish into the flat.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale said in shocked indignation. “Did any of the other chefs?!”

Crowley took a sip of juice. “Yep. The guy before you.”

“Crowley, I...know you fired him because he tried feeding you allergens, but, um...”

Crowley sighed. “You wondering about the other ones?” A nod. “Why ask now?” 

“Because I’ve been curious for a while, and...I guess I can’t contain it any longer.”

Crowley leaned against the counter. “Okay, so first chef I hired, he was great. Made sure no allergens came into the flat, washed everything twice, made really good and healthful meals. So I’m thinking that I’ve got it made. Then I begin to notice that things are going missing. First it was a watch. Not a real expensive one, but not some knock off brand either. I ask him, and he denies ever seeing it. Next it was this necklace that my mum had given me. It was gold and shaped like a snake. Again, I confront him, and again he denies ever seeing it.  So one day when he goes out I went into his room and started turning the place upside down.”

“He stayed here?” 

Crowley shook his head. “Not..stayed stayed. He lived close enough that he could go home, but sometimes he stayed overnight if the weather was bad. And I never set foot in there before that day. You can relax, Angel. You’re the only chef I love.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “So I’m looking, and not finding anything. I was just starting to think that maybe I had lost the items when I notice something hanging out of a box near the bed. I kneel down, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s the necklace. And the watch. And a few other things I hadn’t even realized were missing.” 

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes are wide. “What did you do?” 

“Took the box out to the dining room and put it on the table, making sure the contents were in full view. When he came back, I confronted him again, and this time he couldn’t deny it. I told him to get the fuck out and just be glad I wasn’t pressing charges. So there went chef number one.” 

“And the others?” 

“Okay, so a few of them I may have fired just because I didn’t like them. They were...chipper, but in that fake, cloying way that sets my teeth on edge. I can be an asshole sometimes, and I felt awful after.” Crowley admitted, embarrassed. “Some quit, and I can’t really blame them. I can be...a lot, as you know.”

“Yes, I am aware of your temper. But at least you don’t throw food at me any more.”

“That was one time, and I groveled for hours after!” Crowley whined. Aziraphale laughed and kissed him. 

“And very lovely groveling it was. Now, my love, I need to get going, as I’ve much shopping to do. I also have something special planned for tonight.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

Aziraphale tweaked Crowley’s nose. “Silly love, if I told you, that would spoil the surprise. I will say this. You will enjoy it, I promise.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

After another kiss, Aziraphale left for the market. Crowley went into his study and pulled up his email. Anathema had been able to get Alien Guy to agree to a phone interview. Crowley dialed the number on the screen, opened up his Word program, and poised himself to write. The phone rang once, twice, three times before being picked up. “Mr. Farris?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Anthony Crowley, Occult News. I understand you have an amazing story to tell?” That was how he always started his interviews. It was a phrase that guaranteed people would open up. Sure enough, Mr. Farris began talking. Crowley’s fingers flew as he typed, occasionally adding an interjection of “Yes, and then what?” By the time Farris stopped talking, Crowley had ten pages worth of material. “Thank you for sharing your story, Mr. Farris.” He hung up, then began the process of turning insane ravings into a coherent story and interview. 

Three hours later, he shot Anathema an email with the article attached. He got a reply seconds later. 

‘Will run in next issue. Good job.’ 

He smiled, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his tired eyes. 

Aziraphale picked up the apple in his hand, weighing it out. It was a good size, perfect for baking. Crowley had gone into raptures over the apples with honey, and Aziraphale decided to make it again. He was also going to make pears poached in simple syrup with honey and cinnamon, along with a filet mignon with roasted potatoes and honey glazed carrots. 

“You gonna buy that or just stare at it?” A voice behind him asked. Aziraphale turned, grinning at the person. 

“Bee!” 

Bee Zebub smirked at him. “Hey.” They pushed past Aziraphale, grabbing an apple from the pile and shoving it into their basket. “So how you been?”

“Wonderful, and you?” 

“Eh, I’m on this side of the soil, so can’t complain. How’s things with that asshole Crowley going?”

Aziraphale smiled dreamily. “Oh, wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Bee snorted. “He’s an asshole, and you’re simpering. Stop simpering.” The smile in their eyes betrayed their harsh words. “Listen, when are you going to come ‘round for drunk cooking night?”

“Bee, I can’t. I don’t want to risk Crowley. But if you want to come over for dinner some night, I’m sure Crowley won’t mind.”

Bee snorted again. “You kidding? We’d end up killing each other. Bad enough I’m related to the asshole, I don’t need to be in the same vicinity.”

“Related?!”

Bee nodded. “Yeah, we’re like, third cousins twice removed, or second cousins three times removed, or some fucking thing like that.  Who the fuck knows.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“What, you think I’d give just anyone the sort of grief I give him? I save that shit for family, mainly because I know he can give as well as he can take. Same reason why I tolerate your square ass. Because you’re a bastard, not so deep down.” 

“You’re a paragon of kindness, Bee.” Aziraphale drawled sarcastically. They laughed.

“Fucking right I am. I’ll see ya.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, laughing to himself. 

Crowley was sprawled out on the sofa watching a Golden Girls marathon when Aziraphale came in. “I’m home!” He paused the TV and went into the kitchen, pulling the chef into a loving kiss. “Hello, my love.”

“Hey.” Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s, breathing him in. “Missed you.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.” 

“Still missed you. Whatcha get?”

Aziraphale gently pushed him away from the bags. “It’s a surprise.  You’ll find out later. Go sit.” Pouting, Crowley obeyed. Aziraphale began to put away the perishables. “I ran into Bee at the market.”

“You know Bee?!” Crowley asked, shocked. Aziraphale nodded.

“Yes.”

“Never told me that.” The writer huffed, arms crossed. “How do you know them?”

“Oh, we met when I was working for the Ambassador. They were hired as my sous chef for a party Mr. Dowling was giving.”

Crowley laughed. “So what was your first impression of them?”

Aziraphale blushed. “I will admit it was...less than favorable. They can be quite abrasive, and they were very vocal about how much they did not want to be there. But they worked hard, and after we were done they asked if I wanted a drink. Even now, I’d...hesitate to say we’re good friends, but we get along. Before you hired me, we’d have what they called ‘Drunk Cooking Night’ once a month. I’d go over to their flat with a bottle of whatever liquor I had to hand, and we’d get plastered and come up with recipes. Some turned out good, others...not so much.”

Crowley laughed, throwing his head back. “Sounds just like them.”

“And by the way, why didn’t you tell me you’re related to them?”

“Never came up.” Crowley said. Aziraphale glared at him. “Bee and I, we had, or rather have, a...weird sort of dynamic. We insult and snark at each other all the time, and we probably couldn’t be in the same room without killing each other, but they were the first one I called when I got back and told about Mark, they were the one that organized all the therapist and doctor visits for me, and they still call once a week to check up on me. Though I did get majorly pissed at them for sending me a chef that tried to kill me.” 

“Yes, I can understand that. But I’m very glad they did.” 

“What? Why?”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “Because if they hadn’t, they would never have called me, and I would never have met the love of my life.” 

Crowley felt himself melt. “Oh.” 

“Oh indeed.” 


	6. Taste The Pleasures of The Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very special dinner leads to a very special night.

Chapter Six: Taste The Pleasures Of The Flesh

Aziraphale felt a flutter of nervous excitement as he arranged the food on the plates. It was true that he had cooked quite a few meals for Crowley, but no meal had been as special-as important- as this one was. This one had to be perfect from start to finish. He poured two glasses of wine-red for him, rice for Crowley, since he didn’t want to risk even the smallest allergic reaction tonight.

The filet looked and smelled delicious. Aziraphale had cooked it in a combo of its own juices and a blend of herbs and spices, and it had come out perfect-nice and pink in the center. The potatoes were crunchy on the outside and soft as pillows on the inside, and the carrots came out perfect as well, a harmonious blend of honey and rosemary.

The final step was the candles. Aziraphale had purchased them the day before, along with silver candle holders(fake, but still very impressive looking) and hidden them in the silverware drawer. He had also purchased matches, just in case Crowley didn’t have any.

Aziraphale set the candles on the table, and after a few false starts, managed to get them both lit. He turned down the dining room light enough so that the candles could be seen, but not so much that Crowley wouldn’t be able to see the food. Aziraphale always prided himself on his presentation. He set both places, hoping Crowley noticed that Aziraphale’s place was not his normal one at the other end of the table.

With the meal on the table, the final step was to call Crowley. Aziraphale settled in, then took a deep breath. “Crowley! Dinner’s ready!”

A few moments later the study door creaked open, and Crowley’s footsteps went into the bathroom. There was the brief sound of running water, then the footsteps came towards the table. Crowley stopped, blinking at the sight before him. “Angel, what’s all this?”

Aziraphale looked down at the plate, then back up at him, blushing. “I..I wanted tonight to be special.”

Crowley felt a rush of love. “Oh, Angel. It is. But you’re missing something.”

Aziraphale felt flustered. What could he have missed? He had the food, the candlelight, the...”Music! Oh, I forgot the music!”

Crowley smiled at his love. “I’ve got you covered, Angel.” He went over to his stereo and pressed a few buttons. Classical music filled the flat. Crowley came over and sat down, smiling softly at the chef. “Better?”

“Oh, much. Now, I propose a toast.” He lifted his glass, and Crowley did the same. “To...ineffability.”

They clinked their glasses together, and Crowley sipped at his wine. “I love you so much, Aziraphale. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying it.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing it.” Aziraphale said, eyes shining in happiness. “Now, eat before everything gets cold.”

Crowley laughed and dug into his steak. “Mmm...god, so delicious, just like always. That’s another thing I love about you. Everything you make is the best thing you’ve ever made. I’m actually gaining weight with you being my chef.” He took another bite, sighing in rapture.

Aziraphale blushed and dug into his carrots. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re not as skinny as a bean pole anymore.”

“All ‘cuz of you.” Crowley said, moaning in delight as he chewed on a carrot. “But you still cook real healthful stuff. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you deep fry anything.”

“That’s because most batter for deep frying uses flour at some point. I do have a lovely recipe for pan fried fish that uses corn meal. I could make it tomorrow night.”

“Okay.” Crowley stared forlornly down at his plate. “Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“Somebody ate all my steak.”

Aziraphale blinked, then burst out laughing. Crowley looked sideways at him and broke out into giggles.

There was a hissing sound as the record ended, then the click-thunk of another taking its place. Soft music filled the flat, followed moments later by the unmistakable voice of Frank Sinatra. Crowley tossed his napkin on the table and grabbed Aziraphale’s hands. “Come on, dance with me.”

“But I wasn’t...” Aziraphale gazed at the two carrots left on his plate and allowed himself to be led into the middle of the living room. “I wasn’t finished.” He admonished gently. Crowley slipped his arms around his waist and began swaying in time to the music. Aziraphale followed, a bit clumsily. “I’m not...really much of a dancer, Crowley.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just listen to the music.” Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale into his arms. Aziraphale shut his eyes, breathing in Crowley’s spice clove scent, then became aware of a deep tenor voice in his ear.

“Some day, when I’m awfully low,” Crowley sang, and Aziraphale felt himself shudder at his beautiful, rich voice, “and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight.”

Crowley pulled back so he could look into Aziraphale’s eyes as he sang for him. “Yes, you’re lovely, with your smile so warm...” Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley kissed him softly before continuing. “And your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight.”

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale was crying happy tears. Crowley kissed him again.

“With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart, and that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart...”

Aziraphale’s tears were flowing freely now. God, how he loved this man. Crowley pulled him close and sang the last bits into his ear.

“Lovely...never, ever change, keep that breathless charm, won’t you please arrange it? ‘Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight.”

The song ended, and the next one began, but Aziraphale couldn’t have told anyone what it was. He was far too busy kissing Crowley with every ounce of passion he had. Crowley was kissing back equally as hard, clinging to Aziraphale as though his very life depended on it.

Crowley broke the kiss long enough to pant out “Bedroom?” Aziraphale nodded, and they headed down the hall to Crowley’s room, still kissing. Crowley somehow managed to get the door open without breaking the kiss, and he walked Aziraphale backward towards the bed, his long fingers deftly working open the buttons on his shirt.

Aziraphale’s legs hit the bed and he sank down onto the plush mattress, watching with lust-dark eyes as Crowley pulled off his shirt, tossing it into the corner and revealing his pale, smooth chest. Aziraphale could see the results of his cooking. Crowley’s ribs no longer protruded, and the muscle that had always been there underneath was more defined. “You are so beautiful.” Aziraphale croaked out.

“So are you, Angel. The most beautiful angel ever.” Crowley whispered, sliding into Aziraphale’s lap. “I love you so much, and tonight was...it was perfect, my love. Now, you took care of me. Let me take care of you?” Crowley asked softly, caressing Aziraphale’s face.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley smiled.

“Good. Get undressed and lay back for me, my angel.”

Aziraphale hastened to obey, shimmying out of his clothes before sliding up and laying down on the silken sheets, his legs spread wide. Crowley slithered out of his pants and up Aziraphale’s body, pressing against him. “Such a beautiful angel, my angel. So soft, so warm, such perfect curves. So ready and eager for my touch...” Crowley caressed Aziraphale’s nipples, and the chef moaned, arching up into his touch. Crowley’s mouth replaced his finger, and Aziraphale keened. “My Aziraphale...”

“Yes, my love, yours, all yours, only yours...” Aziraphale panted as Crowley’s tongue flicked over his very sensitive nipples. He was almost painfully hard. Crowley kissed his sternum.

“Clean.”

“Huh?” Aziraphale blinked himself out of the lust haze he had been in. “Whossat?”

Crowley looked up at him. “I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone since Mark, and we used protection. Which I do have, if you need...”

“No. I’m clean too. I um...see the truth is, oh god this is embarrassing...”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was soft. “Are you a virgin?” Aziraphale blushed. “Why are you embarrassed by that?”

“Well, um...you’re experienced, and I’m not. I mean, we’ve done oral, but I’ve never had...anal sex and I’m just...scared that I’ll make a huge mess of everything.”

Crowley felt his heart melt for his angel. “Oh, love...you won’t mess anything up, I promise. I’ll just be sure to go slow, so you get to experience it all. I’ve got you, my love. Let me show you how good it can be.”

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley smiled at him. “Now, seeing as how you mentioned oral...” the writer moved so he was between Aziraphale’s spread legs. “My, someone’s eager, ‘ he chuckled, stroking the hard shaft with his hand. Aziraphale whined and bucked up into his touch. “Let’s see what can be done about this, hmm?” A low keen was the only answer he got. Crowley smirked, then kissed the tip before swallowing the hard length of him down. God, but his angel tasted so good. His cock filled Crowley’s mouth so well.

He sucked, letting his cheeks hollow, and was rewarded with a cry of ecstasy. Aziraphale buried his hands in Crowley’s hair, tugging hard on the fiery curls. Crowley whined. He loved it when Aziraphale pulled his hair. He grasped the chef’s wrists, guiding him, and was rewarded with another hard tug.

Then Aziraphale bucked hard into Crowley’s mouth, the tip of his cock going down Crowley’s throat, and Crowley felt a surge of pleasure stronger than anything he’d ever known. Whining, he squeezed Aziraphale’s thighs in a silent plea to do that again. Aziraphale gave vent to a positively pornographic moan and proceeded to fuck into Crowley’s mouth, cries and yells of pleasure pouring from his mouth.

“Oh fuck oh god oh Crowley my god that tongue of yours oh my love your mouth, your sweet, hot mouth take my pleasure my love give me everything, give me your tongue, your teeth, your lips, I’m yours, spread me out, taste me, take me, devour me my love, I’m yours, your meal, your pleasure, everything I am is yours, body, heart, soul, I’m….AAAHHHH!” Aziraphale’s back arced like a bow as he came down Crowley’s throat.

Crowley licked up the bits that hadn’t made it into his mouth before surging up and capturing Aziraphale’s mouth in a searing kiss. Aziraphale could taste himself on Crowley’s tongue. “Ziraphle...god I love you so fucking much..” Crowley groaned into his mouth.

“Crowley...please...take me...”

“I will, baby. I promise. Just gotta get something, okay?” Crowley reached over to the night table, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to kiss his chest. Crowley sighed and reached into the drawer, pulling out a small bottle. “Let’s get you nice and lubed up, okay baby? Make it so I don’t hurt my angel, yeah?”

“Please...” Aziraphale moaned wantonly, head thrown back. Crowley smiled.

“Oh, Angel, if you could see yourself now, panting and wanton beneath me. I could photograph you like this, capture you with my camera, and it would be the most perfect picture ever.”

Aziraphale blushed, feeling oddly...turned on. “You..could, if you wanted. Take...um...intimate pictures of me. I’d even..um...pose, if you wanted me to.”

Crowley blinked, wondering how the hell it was possible that his cock could become even harder than it already was. “You...would?’ He croaked out, already imagining several delicious poses Aziraphale could do. Aziraphale nodded, his entire body red. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He choked out before shaking himself back to the present. “Now, where was I?” He scooted in between Aziraphale’s plush thighs, lifted his legs and placed them on his shoulders. Crowley popped the top off the lube and squeezed a generous dollop onto his fingers before gently pressing them against Aziraphale’s entrance. “I’ll go slow, okay love? Let you get used to one finger first.” He pressed in, curling, and Aziraphale hissed in pleasure. “I’ve got you, angel. Relax and let me take care of you.”

Crowley slid his finger in deeper, and Aziraphale whined. “Oh, god. Crowley, you feel so good...”

“So do you, love. So do you.” Crowley whispered, searching for the spot inside Aziraphale that would make his angel fall to pieces. He added another finger, and Aziraphale keened, hips bucking. “Such a perfect angel, my love. My heart. My soul. I love you, I...” Crowley’s fingers found what they were searching for, and he pressed down. Aziraphale howled like a banshee. Crowley smirked, working his fingers until the chef was a panting, sobbing wreck beneath him.

“Please...” Aziraphale panted, mind gone with lust. “Need you...please...”

Crowley’s cock was throbbing. He couldn’t, didn’t want to, put it off any longer. He slicked himself up, then with a cry of relief slid deep into Aziraphale’s tight heat. “Oh my fucking god...Aziraphale...god baby you’re so hot, so tight around me...fuck baby you feel so fucking good..Gonna make it good for my angel, you fill every empty space, I love you more than anything...” Crowley babbled as he thrust in and out, his hips pistoning.

While it was true that Aziraphale had been a virgin, what he was not was naive. He had read several volumes of erotica, so he did know a bit about what sex was like from an academic point of view. But now, as Crowley moved inside him, causing stars to burst before his eyes and sending shock waves of pleasure through his entire body, he realized that certain things were **much** better if one experienced them in person. 

Crowley wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s throbbing cock, tugging upwards, and Aziraphale let out a shriek that had Crowley praying that his room was soundproofed enough. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “Harder...” he slurred. 

“You sure, baby?”

“Fuck me, Crowley. Fuck me hard...” Aziraphale whined. “You won’t hurt me..”

“Oh, Angel, never...” Crowley said, gazing lovingly down at the perfection beneath him. “You are so beautiful like this, my love. I promise, in the nights to come I will lay you out and fuck you until you can’t think of anything but me, but tonight, tonight I want you to know just how very deeply I love you and how infinitely grateful I am that you are in my life.” He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale. “I love you, Aziraphale Fell. So much.” 

“Anthony...love you...” Aziraphale whispered, eyes bright with love. “Never thought I could love someone as much as I love you.”

Crowley began thrusting harder, head thrown back. “Aziraphale, my love, my heart, you fill me up, you are the moon to my tides, the beat of my heart, the answer to all things, you are light where there was dark, you are my soul, my life, my love, never loved someone this much,  not even Mark, we are a supernova, burning through the sky, I am a planet in your orbit, I love you I love you I...” Crowley howled Aziraphale’s name as he came deep inside him. Aziraphale followed him over the edge seconds later, Crowley’s name a shriek. 

Crowley collapsed panting against Aziraphale’s chest. “Oh god, that was...”

“Incredible.” Aziraphale panted out. Crowley ‘hmmed’ in response before staggering out of bed and into the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby. Nothing worse than trying to sleep when you’re all sticky with come.” Crowley began to gently clean off Aziraphale. “How you doing?” 

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale sighed. The cloth was soft and the water just warm enough. 

“Good. You sore at all?” 

Aziraphale wiggled. “A bit, but nothing worth mentioning, and it will fade.” 

Crowley finished cleaning him and tossed the cloth into the hamper before pulling him into his arms. “If you like, you can go get some pajamas from your room and come back here, if you don’t want to sleep naked.” 

Aziraphale snuggled up to him. “Not moving.” 

Crowley kissed him. “Message received.” He curled himself around his angel, eyes already starting to slip closed. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” Aziraphale said before letting sleep claim him. 

The next morning they woke up and decided to take advantage of Crowley’s massive shower(and Aziraphale got to demonstrate what a wicked tongue  **he** had, much to Crowley’s very vocal delight) before Aziraphale got dressed and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. He frowned at the dishes from the night before. “Bugger.” 

After cleaning the kitchen,  Aziraphale set to work fixing a breakfast bowl for Crowley and a bowl of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon for himself.  He also made himself a cup of tea(Crowley was a die hard coffee drinker). 

Crowley came sauntering into the kitchen a few minutes later. “Morning, baby. Breakfast smells so good.” He came over, pressing a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. “Mmm, but you smell and taste even better...”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “ And what do I smell and taste like, my darling?”  He gasped as Crowley nibbled on a very sensitive spot on his neck. 

“M’angel tastes like honey...” Crowley said against his neck. “An’ he smells like violets...”

“Violets?” 

“Mmm hmm. Best smell in the world. Could breathe it all day.”

“You...ohhh...you smell of cloves and spice, and you taste like...ohhh god Crowley...you taste like apples...”

Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale felt his knees buckle. “Yeah?”

“Ohh...how you tempt me, my love...”

Crowley sucked a kiss onto Aziraphale’s neck. “You tempt me too, my perfect angel. You are a dish that I want to eat over and over, relishing every bite. I’m in love with everything you are, my sweet chef.”

Aziraphale groaned. 

Breakfast did eventually get eaten, and after getting the dishes done Aziraphale and Crowley went over to the sofa and cuddled up together, exchanging kisses and words of devotion and love. 

Crowley looked down into his angel’s beautiful blue eyes. “I loved you from the beginning, you know? The moment I looked into those eyes I was lost. You woke up a part of me I thought long dead. I thought, after I lost Mark, that I could never love someone like I loved him. But you proved me wrong. I love you so much more.”

Aziraphale kissed him. “I loved you too, but I was so scared that if I said anything, it would seem like I was trying to replace him. The way you spoke of him, it made me so happy that you had something like that, and so devastated for you that you lost it. But now I know that isn’t the case. I know I won’t replace him, and I don’t want to. Just knowing you love me as deeply and fiercely as I love you is enough.”

“Oh, my darling angel, it is **more** than enough.” 


	7. Savory and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley fills a fantasy Aziraphale didn't realize he had and Gabriel gets his comeuppance.

Chapter Seven: Savory and Sweet

“Oh g’d...Ang’l...” Crowley slurred as he scrabbled to find purchase on the slippery silk sheets. “Feel...so good...” He whined, grabbing for Aziraphale’s thighs. “More...please..”

Above him, Aziraphale obeyed, hips twitching as he buried himself deeper inside Crowley. “Oh, Crowley, you feel so wonderful around me, so hot, so tight, so perfect.”

“Hnnngg...” Crowley croaked out as his lover continued to thrust into him, Aziraphale’s cock hitting his nerves with a precision that made the writer keen. This had been the best fucking idea ever, asking if Aziraphale wanted to top tonight.

At first, Aziraphale had been nervous(“What if I’m no good?” “Nonsense, Angel, you’ll do great.”) and unsure of himself.(“I’ll guide you, Angel. Relax.”) But once they were in bed, and Aziraphale on top of his lover, instinct took over. Crowley, as it turned out, had had to do very little work himself. Once Aziraphale’s cock had found Crowley’s hole, that had been it. Aziraphale had slammed into him so hard that Crowley choked on his spit.

He should have realized his angel was a hedonist. The way he ate his food was a dead fucking giveaway, and he was always begging for Crowley to go harder and faster when they made love. Crowley, unable to deny the love of his life anything, had been more than happy to comply.

Aziraphale continued to thrust, at the same time stroking and tugging on Crowley’s cock and making him see stars. “I love you so much, Crowley. More than I think I’ll ever be able to fully say.”

“Hnng...Ang’l...l’ve you...” Crowley whined, leaning up for a kiss. Aziraphale was more than happy to oblige.

Crowley’s world had narrowed down to this bed and to the angel above and inside him, Aziraphale’s touch was fire, it was light, and it was heat. It burned and soothed, and it was a balm and a blessing. Crowley’s very essence burned for him. Aziraphale took him apart, over and over, then put him back together. Crowley’s love was an inferno inside him, and Aziraphale was the match to his flame. He could never, **would never** get enough of it. “Azirphle...I’m...close...”

“Oh, me too, my precious love, let go for me, my sweet darling...” Aziraphale crooned, giving Crowley’s cock one final stroke. Crowley threw his head back and came, screaming Aziraphale’s name to the Heavens. Aziraphale followed seconds later, Crowley’s name a cry. 

“ ‘S’not fair, you know.” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale looked up at him, perplexed. “Your bein’ all...articulate.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I’m hardly articulate all the time, darling. In fact, if you recall last night, the majority of my vocabulary consisted of ‘Oh god fuck me harder, please.’ I seem to recall screaming it at one point.”

Crowley preened. “Yeah, true.”

Aziraphale kissed his nose before climbing out of bed and walking towards the bathroom, giggling to himself at Crowley’s wolf whistle. He did his business, then wet the cloth and went back into the bedroom. He wiped Crowley clean and tossed the cloth in the hamper. “Crowley?” 

“Hmm?” Crowley was on the verge of sleep. 

“Do you remember what I said a few weeks ago? About how...you could take pictures of me?”

Sleep was suddenly the farthest thing from Crowley’s mind. “Uh...yeah.” He managed. Aziraphale blushed. 

“Well, if it’s not too late...could you...maybe take a few tonight?” 

Crowley was up and out of bed before the sentence was complete. He dove into his closet, tossing objects willy nilly. “Where is it, I know I put it in here, no, no, no...AHA!” With a triumphant cry, he emerged holding a camera. “Please don’t have a dead battery...YES!” 

Aziraphale wrung his hands. He was very nervous, but also very excited. “How should I...how do you want me?” 

Crowley adjusted the camera, then looked up at Aziraphale with a smile. “Up against the headboard, legs open.” Aziraphale got into position. “God, that’s fucking hot. Okay, look at me. Perfect, baby. Just perfect.” Crowley snapped a picture. “Aziraphale, turn around and grab the headboard, then look back at me. Look...seductive.”

Aziraphale obeyed, a strangely erotic thrill running through him. He heard the camera shutter clicking. “What...else do you want me to do?” 

Crowley thought for a moment, then grinned. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare move.” Aziraphale watched as he left the room, then returned moments later with something in his hands. 

“Crowley, is that..my apron?” 

Grinning, Crowley shook it out. “Yep. Put it on.”He handed it to Aziraphal e. 

Aziraphale gulped, then slipped it on over his head, tying it loosely in the back. “Good?” He croaked out, and Crowley nodded. 

“Very good.” He came forward. “Touch yourself under the apron, baby. Let me see you come undone.”

Aziraphale whined and took hold of himself, stroking his already sensitive cock with his hand. “Crowley...take the fucking picture..”

“Oh, I am, baby. Just let me savor the sight of my angel like this, okay?”

“Crowley...please...” 

The camera shutter clicked. “So fucking perfect, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale stroked faster, his breath coming out in pants. Crowley’s hands were shaking, and he was breathing just as hard, but he kept snapping picture after picture, making sure to get Aziraphale from every possible angle. 

Aziraphale’s body hitched, and he cried out as he came, splattering his legs and the apron with his come. Crowley snapped one final picture, then dropped the camera to the floor and pounced, kissing Aziraphale breathlessly. “God, baby, that was the...hottest..fucking thing I have  **ever** done in my life.”

Aziraphale could only nod. “Definitely..something to do again.”

Crowley growled in desire. “Oh, yes. And I can think of so many...poses for you. God, Angel, I’d love to take a picture of you naked with a book draped over that sweet cock, or dress you in silk and satin, or have you spreadeagled on the bed, open and exposed...fuck...”

“Oh god, Crowley, yes...” Aziraphale moaned. Who would have guessed that the simple act of taking a picture could be so erotic? “Can I see?” 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Crowley retrieved the camera and slid in next to Aziraphale. “There ya go.” 

Aziraphale looked through the pictures. “Oh. I look...”

“Gorgeous. You look gorgeous.”

“I was going to say content. You know, I never really liked having my picture taken, because I always thought I looked..well, frumpy. But these pictures, I look...you’re an amazing photographer.”

Crowley kissed him. “I have an amazing subject.” Aziraphale blushed and continued to scroll through the camera, expressing admiration for each picture he came across. 

When Aziraphale came to the final picture, Crowley’s breath hitched. “I thought I erased that..” he croaked out. 

It showed two men, their arms around each other. One was clearly Crowley, the other… “Is that Mark?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded. 

“Yeah. That was...um...right before we...before that night. Sam, one of the other soldiers, took the picture.” 

Aziraphale looked at the man that Crowley had loved. He was certainly very handsome, with a desert tan that accentuated his blue eyes and black hair. He was smiling, and held Crowley in a close but loving grip. They were both the same height, but Aziraphale was sure Mark had a bit more meat on his bones. Crowley was smiling, a slight tinge on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat. His hair was done up in a pony tail, and his eyes were shining. “I can see why you loved him. He’s quite handsome.”

“Yeah, but he was more than that. Hell, if that was the only criteria I would have fallen for half the men there. Mark was...” Crowley chuckled. “He was like you, in a lot of ways. Kind, generous, a real bastard when he wanted to be, and he put up with my bullshit.” Aziraphale giggled. “He would have really liked you, you know?” 

“Really?” 

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, he would have.” 

“Do you want to keep the picture as a memory?”

Crowley gazed at it for several moments, then hit the Delete button. “I need to make new memories. Memories with you.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “What’s past is past. You are my present and future.”  He set the camera on the nightstand, then turned and pulled Aziraphale into a passionate kiss. “I love you.”

“As do I love you.”

Aziraphale was, as usual, the first one up the next morning. He sighed, and began the process of untangling his rather octopus like lover from him, taking care to not disturb Crowley, who would simply cling tighter. After several patient moments, the chef managed to slide out of bed. Crowley whined in his sleep and wrapped his arms and torso around Aziraphale’s pillow, burying his nose in it and whimpering in satisfaction before slipping back into true sleep. Aziraphale smiled down at him before heading to his room to get dressed. The apron he tossed in the hamper. He had plenty more. 

He started on breakfast. Crowley had loved the hodge podge and demanded more of it. Aziraphale had tweaked the recipe a bit, throwing in onions.  As he chopped, diced, and sliced, he hummed to himself, a smile on his face. 

The sound of his mobile ringing brought him out of his reverie. Frowning, he glanced at the clock. Who would be calling him at seven thirty in the morning? He fished the phone out of his pocket, and not bothering to look at the contact name, swiped to answer. “Whoever this is, it had better be important.”

“I hope you’re fucking happy now!” Gabriel screamed at him, and Aziraphale pulled the phone away from his ear. “Wasn’t enough you walking out and taking everyone with you, was it? No, you’ve been working behind the scenes this whole time, manipulating and plotting, haven’t you?! Took you a long time, but you got what you wanted, you fucking shit! I’ll sue you! I’ll sue you for everything you have!”

“Gabriel, what the **fuck** are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked, beyond confused. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know, you lying weasel! You sent them, didn’t you?”

“Sent who?” 

“The fucking health inspectors, who do you think?! How much did you have to bribe them to come, huh? Or did you just send a tip ‘anonymously’?” 

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. “Gabriel. I did not bribe or tip anyone. I didn’t even know they had come until you told me, just this second. I take it the inspection was less than favorable?” He asked, feeling a not so deep down thrill of vindictive glee. 

“They shut me down! I’ve got no business, and six weeks to get up to code! I’ll lose all my clientele if this gets out!” 

Aziraphale slid the dish into the oven, closing the door. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do.  You’re going to have to hire a cleaning crew.” He straightened and went over to the sink, filling it with hot soapy water and  the dirty prep dishes . “I do have one thing to say before I hang up. If you are foolish enough to follow through on your threat to sue me, I will counter sue for both libel and making false accusations, and I will have evidence to back up my claims. I have a very good reputation in the cooking world, and can easily call on several chefs that will testify to both my character and your lack of it. I also have, in the nine years since I started Fell’s, never once failed an inspection nor had any review from a client that was less than favorable. Whereas I have read several Yelp reviews of Eden that paint a rather...interesting picture. I have had the same consistent staff, with a few changes, for that same amount of time, while you cannot keep staff for six months without them quitting or being fired. If you really want to go down this road, I promise I will make it as difficult as I can. Is that clear?” 

“Yes.” Gabriel ground out. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. Goodbye.” Aziraphale hung up, grinning. He slid his phone back in his pocket and plunged his hands into the water, scrubbing down the cutting board and knives. 

A pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and he sighed as Crowley nuzzled into his neck. “Good morning, my love.”

“Mmm...Woke up, you weren’t in bed. Don’t like that, you not being in bed.”

“Yes, well, I did have to make breakfast, you know. I am technically still your chef. Cooking for you is what I do.”

Crowley went stiff. “Azira...no...I...please tell me that’s not...”

Aziraphale gasped as he realized what he had said. “Oh, Crowley.” He turned so he was facing his lover. “Oh, darling, no. I love cooking for you, and I love you. The two are not mutually exclusive. I never once meant for you to think otherwise.” He grinned. “After all, I am still getting that check every month.”

“I didn’t want you to think...that it was...payment for...I love you, Aziraphale. Does it...my paying you, does it come across as…?” 

“The way I see it, you’re paying me to cook for you. As far as the bank knows, that’s what the check is for. Everything else, the sex, the love, is a beautiful bonus.”

Crowley sighed in relief. “Yeah, it really is.” He kissed Aziraphale on the forehead. “How do you always know what to say?”

“It’s a gift. Now go sit, breakfast is about to come out of the oven.” 

Crowley went and retrieved his paper(his asshole neighbor had started working nights, and so was unable to steal it) before sitting at the table. He opened it up and scanned the articles, flipping through and remarking at a few under his breath. “Serves them right, the knobs...hmm...Hey Angel! Look at this!” He folded the paper so a certain article showed. Aziraphale came into the dining room, placing Crowley’s plate in front of him. “Lookit!” He slid the paper towards Aziraphale. 

**RESTAURANT CLOSES AMID HEALTH AND SAFETY SCANDAL**

‘Eden Restaurant, once one of the most happening places to go for dinner, has been shut down by the Health Inspector for violating numerous health and safety laws. Among the violations found were meat and vegetable products stored together, no expiration dates on any packages, leaky packages of raw meat stored above fruits and vegetables, mold in the kitchen and on the stoves, rat and roach droppings found in the kitchen as well as in the dining area. There were also a number of exposed wires in the kitchen and dirty rags piled up, constituting a fire hazard. The restaurant, which had been suffering ever since the loss of head chef Aziraphale Arch, will remain closed until further notice. Owner Gabriel Arch was unavailable for comment.’ 

Aziraphale smiled serenely and dug into his meal. “Oh, I know. Gabriel called to scream at me earlier. Apparently he was under the impression that I orchestrated the entire thing. Even threatened to sue.”

Crowley giggled. “Yeah? What’d you tell him?”

“Merely that I had nothing to do with it, and if he was foolish enough to sue I would drag his name through the mud so thoroughly that it would take him ten lifetimes to recover from it.”

Crowley blinked at him, then shot out of his seat and launched himself into Aziraphale’s lap, kissing him as hard as he could. “You..are such a beautiful bastard.”

“Why, thank you.” 

After breakfast, Crowley had some editing to do on his latest article, and Aziraphale headed out to his shop to check on things. They had a big party coming up, and while Aziraphale was a hundred percent confident that Adam could handle things with ease, he wanted to make sure that everything was in order so Adam didn’t have to work any harder than he had to. 

Eve waved to him as he came in. “Morning, Zira!”

“Good morning to you too. How are you feeling?”

Eve groaned. “Ugh, ready to have this kid. She’s gonna come out with a whisk in one hand and a baby sized mixing bowl in the other. Adam’s in the back making the sides for the Matthews’ party.”

Aziraphale grinned and went into the kitchen. “Morning, Adam. Just checking on things.” He came over to Adam’s station, peering down at his chef’s handiwork. “They look wonderful. Oh, did you get a chance to harvest the honey?”

“Sure did. It’s over there in that jar.” Adam pointed to the counter, where a large jar filled with golden honey sat, the comb clearly visible. Aziraphale went over and opened it, inhaling the sweet scent. 

“Perfect. I’m going to make some of my honey candies tonight for Crowley. I think he’s getting a bit of a sore throat, the poor dear.”

Adam smiled. “Poor dear? Don’t think I’ve heard you call your other clients that.”

“Yes, well...” Aziraphale said, flustered. “It looks like you have things well in hand, so I’m going to take off...”

“You’re gone on him, ain’t ya?” Adam asked, a knowing smile on his face. 

“G..gone? No, I...”

Adam scoffed. “Aziraphale, you got that same look in your eyes that I do every time I look at Eve. That dreamy, moon eyed look that screams that you’re in love. A blind man would be able to tell. Also, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never made your honey candy for anyone but yourself. Hell, you don’t even make it for your mother.”

“That’s because she taught me how to make it in the first place.” Aziraphale said, smiling. “And yes, I am rather ‘gone’ on him, as you put it. In fact I would go so far as to say I am madly in love with him.”

Adam grinned. “Cool. You deserve someone.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m off. Should anything arise, not that I think it will, but if it should, you know how to reach me.”

Crowley sighed and leaned back in his chair. He had just sent his article off to Anathema and Aziraphale was out shopping. Crowley stood and went out to the living room, standing at the window and staring down at the world outside. People were walking down the sidewalk, cars were moving down the street, and the sun was shining. It was, all in all, quite a lovely day. Crowley watched the sea of people, then smiled as he spotted a familiar head of white blond hair. Maybe...maybe he could meet Aziraphale just outside the building. That wouldn’t be going outside, not really, and Aziraphale looked like he had his hands full. Crowley could help tote!

He took a deep breath and went to his door, opening it before he could change his mind, and stepped into the hall. Okay, so far, so good. Now he just...needed to move. Legs trembling, he stepped forward. Okay. Another step. His legs were shaking so bad he had to hold onto the wall for balance. Somehow he made it to the stairs, stumbling down them and nearly falling at several points. He inched his way into the lobby, hands in front of him and eyes blown wide with terror. It was empty, which was a relief. The last thing Crowley wanted was to hear the whispers of his neighbors and feel their judging eyes on his back. The door loomed in front of him, and he could see Aziraphale getting close. 

He had to grab the handle twice before he could get a purchase on it. Panting, he pushed the door open and stepped out. 

Light and noise engulfed him, and he howled, throwing his hands over his face. His legs gave way and he collapsed, shaking and heaving. 

“..ley?! Crowley!” He felt something touching his arm. “Darling, it’s me.” Still shaking, he looked up and into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?”

“W...wanted to...m...meet you outside..H...help...c...carry.”

“Oh, love. Come on, let’s get you inside, okay? Can you hold on to me?” Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale helped him inside and up the stairs. Once they were back in the flat, Crowley collapsed on the couch, pulling Aziraphale down with him. “You didn’t have to do that, love. I didn’t have much today.”

“I’m so fucking useless. Can’t even go two feet outside.”

“Darling, you are not useless. You have a condition, that’s all.”

“Yeah, it’s called being a useless wreck.”

Aziraphale moved so he was looking into Crowley’s eyes. “I will not hear such vile lies against the man I love, do you understand? You are not useless, Anthony. You are not a wreck. You are a person, whole and complete. You hear me?”

“Yeah. What did I do to deserve you, Angel?”

“Well, the fact that you’re wonderful might have something to do with it.”


	8. Tropical Flavors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a Very Special surprise for Crowley, and there's a lot of lovely domesticity.

Chapter Eight: Tropical Flavors

Aziraphale was an excellent chef. He could find any recipe and recreate it down to the exact detail, often throwing in ingredients of his own that made the food look and taste even better. He knew what pot to use, how to arrange a table for a fancy dinner, and what fork went where. He could handle cooking for ten people or two hundred. No matter how stressed the environment got in the kitchen, it was well known that Aziraphale Fell was always cool, calm, and collected.

But of course, that was when he was in the kitchen, his element. Any place else, and he could get very flustered very quickly. For example, while standing in a plant shop desperately trying to select a variety of indoor plants for Crowley’s flat. He had thought it would be easy. He would go in, select some plants, and then leave. Instead he found himself in an almost literal jungle, greenery of all shapes and sizes surrounding him. Aziraphale had no idea where to even begin looking.

“May I help you, sir?” The young man who came over had a name tag on that read ‘Ken’. “Were you looking for any plant in particular?”

“Ah. Yes. Er...ones for a flat.”

Ken nodded and lead Aziraphale over to a section of the store jam packed full of plants. “All of these are suitable for an indoor environment. Do you know where you’ll be putting them?”

That Aziraphale did know. Crowley had an extra, empty room in the flat that got indirect light and was large enough to fit a good number of plants, provided Aziraphale didn’t get any that were too large. “Yes. I’ll need plants that don’t need any direct sunlight and are easy to care for. Ones that won’t die should they not get watered every day.”

“Then may I suggest a few snake plants?” Ken lifted the pot of one of the plants. The leaves did indeed look like snake skin. “Minimal effort required, no need for direct sunlight. We also have philodendrons, which also thrive in indirect sunlight and only need watering when the soil is dry.” He pointed to a plant with leaves that looked like a horn. “If you don’t want something that big, there’s the pancake plant.”

Aziraphale grinned. The leaves did indeed look like small pancakes. “Thank you. I’ll be purchasing quite a number of plants today, so I apologize if I bombard you with questions about each one.”

Ken smiled. “Not at all, sir. It’s what I am here for.”

In the end, Aziraphale purchased two snake plants, three pancake plants, two plants that Ken told him were called ‘lipstick plants’, some lavender, and a pot of aloe vera. Then came the problem. Aziraphale had, of course, walked to the shop from Crowley’s flat. But there was no way he would be able to walk back, not with all the plants, and he did not have Uber. After thinking for a bit, Ken offered a solution-he would lend Aziraphale one of the wagons used for carting plants around the shop. Aziraphale thanked him, and promised to return the wagon as soon as he could. They loaded the plants into the wagon and Aziraphale set off.

When he arrived at the building he faced another dilemma. He could get the wagon inside easily enough, but how was he going to get it into the lift and from there into Crowley’s flat. And once in Crowley’s flat, he had to make sure Crowley didn’t notice anything. Aziraphale wanted this to be a complete surprise. He pondered for a minute, then knocked on the glass. The doorman looked up, and Aziraphale motioned him over.

“Yes, Mr. Fell?”

“George, I find myself in quite urgent need of your assistance. Could you perhaps help me carry a few of these plants up to Mr. Crowley’s flat? I’d hate to bring this dirty wagon in and mess up the pristine floors.”

“Yeah, sure.” George hoisted the snake plants in each arm. “May have to make a few trips.”

Aziraphale picked up the philodendron and the aloe. “Yes, I figured as much. Thank you for the help.”

It took them two trips up and down the lift to bring all the plants to the flat. Aziraphale instructed George to set them outside the door, then thanked him profusely before sliding his key out of his pocket and carefully unlocking the door. He stepped inside, listening for any sign of Crowley. After a few minutes, the clicking sound of a keyboard reached his ears. Crowley was writing, which meant he was in his study, which also meant Aziraphale might just be able to pull this surprise off. He propped the door open with one of the snake plants, then walked as softly as he could over to the empty room. The door creaked a bit when he opened it, and Aziraphale froze, ears strained for the sound of footsteps. After a minute where nothing happened, he breathed a sigh of relief and stepped in.

The light streaming through the windows was bright, but not incredibly so. There was a large table in the middle of the room that looked a bit worn but intact. Aziraphale wondered where it had come from. He tiptoed back out of the room and picked up the philodendron and one of the snake plants, carrying them into their new home and placing them on the table. He repeated this with the other plants, arranging and rearranging them until he got a configuration that he thought Crowley would like. The last thing he did was go into the kitchen and retrieve the watering can and mister he had bought the day before and hidden under the sink.

Taking a deep breath, he went over to Crowley’s study and knocked. “It’s open!” Aziraphale opened the door, and Crowley turned and smiled at him. “Hey baby. How was shopping?”

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh, it was lovely. Would you care to see what I purchased?”

“Gonna wax rhapsodic about a new mixer again?”

Aziraphale chuckled. He had, indeed, raved happily for hours about the new stand mixer he had bought a few days ago. “No. not this time. Do you want to see or not?”

“Of course I do.” Crowley said softly. “You know I love seeing you happy.”

“I know, darling.”

Crowley saved his work then followed Aziraphale over to his storage room. “Why’s it in here?”

“Er, well, it was...rather a large purchase, so I had to put th..it in here. And...it’s a surprise, so you have to close your eyes.” Crowley screwed his eyes shut, and Aziraphale took his hand and led him into the room, at the same time flicking on the light. “Okay, open them.”

Crowley opened his eyes and gasped. His hand flew to his mouth as tears started to flow. “Aziraphale, what…?”

Aziraphale blushed. “I thought..since you can’t go outdoors, I would..bring some of the outdoors to you. I was assured that all the plants here need very little maintenance, and will thrive in indirect light. I thought perhaps...it would give you something to do, a way of...having that garden you told me about.”

Crowley gulped, unable to speak. He stepped forward, examining the plants. “They’re uh...they’re in pretty good shape.”

“There’s um...there’s a watering can as well.” Aziraphale pointed to it. Crowley hefted it.

“Yeah, it’s a...it’s a good one. You um...did you pick the plants yourself?”

“I had help, but yes, the selection was mine.”

Crowley gently rubbed a leaf of one of the lipstick plants. “Good job.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Thank you.” He was about to say something else when Crowley came forward and pulled him into a kiss that made his toes curl.

“Love you so **fucking** much, Angel. So much.” 

“I love you too, darling.” Crowley whined into his mouth and pushed him against the table before sliding to his knees. Aziraphale grinned down at him. “Planning something, are we?” 

Crowley smirked up at him. “Gonna thank you properly.” He nosed at Aziraphale’s crotch, then pressed a delicate kiss to the material. Aziraphale moaned above him. Crowley unfastened Aziraphale’s belt and undid his trousers just enough to allow his cock to spring free. He nuzzled it with his nose, inhaling Aziraphale’s violet scent before taking it in his mouth and down his throat. Aziraphale made a guttural sound that might have been Crowley’s name or just a random string of letters. 

Crowley took him deeper, and Aziraphale yowled, burying his hands in Crowley’s hair. His hips bucked,  and Crowley, by now attuned acutely to Aziraphale’s wants, grabbed Aziraphale’s hands and squeezed them in encouragement. God, but he fucking loved it when his angel got a bit rough with him. 

Aziraphale sighed, then began fucking into his mouth in earnest, loud cries and obscenities pouring from his lips. “Fuck, so fucking good, Anthony, so fucking hot, that fucking mouth of yours, my fucking god it’s so good, you’re so good, you take my cock so well, you were made to take my cock, look at you, my beautiful boy, my perfect love, so wanton and debauched before me, my love, oh, how I love you...” Aziraphale cried out Crowley’s name as he came down his throat. 

Crowley pulled off with a lewd popping sound, smiling up at Aziraphale. “So, was that a good way of saying thanks?” Aziraphale hauled him to his feet and kissed him thoroughly. 

“It was the perfect way, my love.” 

Crowley beamed. Aziraphale adjusted himself then went into the kitchen to prep for dinner. Crowley glared at his plants. “Alright, you miserable lot, listen up. You were bought by an angel, a perfect man. So you had better stay perfect! If I see so much as one leaf spot on any of you, I’ll chuck you into the disposal! Am I clear?!” 

The plants didn’t say anything. Crowley nodded. 

“Right, time to see what sort of shape you’re all in.” He picked up the watering can and went over to the lavender. “You first. Hmm..good color on the leaves, nice purple flowers, I suppose you pass muster. But don’t you dare droop!” He watered the lavender, inhaling its scent. It was nice, but it paled to the smell of violets. 

Crowley watered the plants, snarling threats to them should they dare to not look as lush and vibrant as possible.  He set the empty can next to one of the snake plants. “Now remember, I expect nothing less than perfection! Insubordination will not be tolerated!” 

Satisfied that the plants had gotten the message, he went out to the living room. The smell of cooking filled the flat, and Crowley inhaled. “That smells delicious, Angel.”

“It’s nearly ready, so go wash up.” 

Crowley went into the bathroom and washed his hands. He sat at the table, eager for whatever meal Aziraphale had concocted. 

Aziraphale came into the dining room, plates in hand. He set one in front of Crowley, then went back into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of wine(red and rice) before sitting next to him. He had made baked yellow tail snapper with wild rice and greens. The snapper was covered in what looked like salsa, except it was yellow. Crowley frowned at it. “What’s the yellow stuff?”

“Oh, it’s my pineapple mango salsa. It goes with the snapper. I make it all the time. It’s quite good. The snapper I seasoned with a bit of jerk and a dash of salt and pepper, and the rice has a bit of curry powder. I thought I’d do a bit of tropical flavors tonight. I’ve also got some fresh mangoes for dessert.” 

Crowley’s mouth was watering. He flaked off a piece of fish and took a bite, sighing in orgasmic ecstasy. “So good...” Aziraphale beamed. “I love snapper. It’s one of the fishes that don’t give me hives, y’know?” 

Aziraphale nodded, his mouth full of rice. Crowley loved fish, but could only eat a few kinds. Salmon, snapper(both red and yellow), hake, cod, and tuna. Any other kind left him with a burning mouth and a rash that could last for weeks. Crowley had told him of the time one of his previous chefs had fed him tilapia, leading to a very pissed off Crowley and a very fired chef. 

Luckily, Aziraphale knew quite a number of different ways to cook even a limited number of fish, so Crowley was more than happy. Aziraphale had even modified his tropical stir fry for Crowley. 

The normal recipe called for shrimp and scallops. Naturally, Crowley couldn’t eat either of those. So instead Aziraphale substituted salmon, finding that it made a wonderful contrast to the papaya, mango, and pineapple that went into the dish. Crowley had raved about how good it was, and now it was on the rotation-Crowley demanded it at least once a week. 

Crowley scraped the last bit of rice up, then swallowed his wine. He belched, and Aziraphale glared at him. Crowley sniggered. “Scuse me.”

“I should hope so.” The twitch of Aziraphale’s mouth belied his stern expression. 

Crowley grinned. “You said there’s mango for dessert?” 

“Yes, in the fridge. It needs to be cut, though.” 

Crowley picked up his plate and glass and carried them into the kitchen, setting them next to the sink. He retrieved a mango from the fridge and placed it on the counter. The knives were next to him, and he grabbed one at random. It was a rather large one, so Crowley figured it would do the job. Now he just had to figure out how to cut the mango. Finding the sharp side of the knife seemed like a good start. He had seen Aziraphale test the knives by pressing his thumb against the edges. 

Crowley pressed his thumb against the knife blade, then yelped in pain and dropped it. Blood dripped from his thumb onto the counter, and he stuck his thumb in his mouth, whining. 

“Crowley, what on earth?” Aziraphale came over, taking in the sight before him. “Darling, are you okay?”

“Mmm mm.” Crowley shook his head. His thumb was throbbing. He took it out and showed it to Aziraphale, a pout on his face. “Cut myself.”

“Yes, I can see that. How?” Aziraphale wiped up the blood then went over to the sink, wetting a cloth with warm water. “Give me your hand.” He gently dabbed at the cut, and Crowley yelped. “Oh, hush. The cut’s not deep at all, so you won’t need a plaster. However did you manage to cut yourself?”

“Ow! Was going to cut the mango. Stupid knife. How do you test it and not cut yourself?”

“Years of practice. Also, that is completely the wrong knife to use. It’s a butcher’s knife, used for cutting meat, not fruit. The chef’s knife is what I use for cutting fruit.” Aziraphale pulled a knife with a smaller blade out of the block. “Would you like to watch me do it?”

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale placed the mango on the cutting board. “Number one, always use a cutting board. It’s much less messy. Okay, so first you stand it up, stem side down. Next, take the knife and cut from the top, down one side. With me so far?”

“Yeah.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. Now, we do that twice more, and we end up with three halves. See?” The chef indicated the three equal slices. “One of those is the pit, so we can set it aside for now.” 

Aziraphale picked up one of the mango slices. “Now, this is somewhat tricky, so don’t be mad if you don’t get it right off. Use your knife and make cuts in it, both lengthwise and crosswise. Don’t cut through the peel. Then, invert the mango so the pieces stick out like the bristles on a hedgehog.”

Aziraphale placed the finished product on a plate. “Now, you can either use a paring knife-that’s the smallest one, right there, or you can simply peel the segments off with your fingers. Do you want to try the other segment yourself?” 

Crowley nodded and picked up the knife. Aziraphale repeated his instructions, patiently walking Crowley through every step. Crowley’s mango came out a bit more mangled than Aziraphale’s, but the chef praised him for a job well done.  Crowley blushed, grinning with pride. 

Later that night, as they lay in each others’ arms, Crowley spoke into the quiet darkness. “Thank you for the plants. They’ll come in handy for when I need to scream at the world.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Better the plants than yourself, my love.”

“Yeah, really. And thank you for being so patient with me about the mango. I hope I didn’t mess things up too much.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “You didn’t mess anything up, my love. In fact, you gave me an idea. I was thinking, maybe the next dinner...you could help me plan and prepare it? Find a recipe that suits your needs, I’ll go buy the ingredients, then you and I can make it together, step by step. I’ll walk you through everything.” 

Crowley sighed. “I’d suck. I can’t even boil water without it spilling over.”

“Nonsense. With me as your teacher, you’ll be fine. I’ve done this before, you know.”

“Really? When?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Right after I graduated culinary school but before I made the monumental mistake of going to work for Gabriel. I gave cooking lessons. Nothing fancy, but I never had any failures. So trust me when I say I can teach you how to cook.”

Crowley pouted. “But if I learn to cook, you won’t have anything to do.”

Aziraphale giggled and kissed him. “Darling, I’m suggesting one dinner, that’s all. Besides, even if you do become a gourmet home cook, you’ll still keep me around for the mind blowing sex.”

Crowley had to concede the point. “Speaking of...” He growled and pounced on the chef. 

Aziraphale sighed, pulling him down for a kiss. “Insatiable, I swear.” 

There was no more talking after that. 


	9. Cooking With Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets his first cooking lesson.

Chapter Nine: Cooking With Crowley

Crowley paced like a caged tiger around the plant room. Aziraphale had told him that morning that he(Crowley) was going to help make dinner. Aziraphale had assured Crowley that he picked out a meal that would be very simple, but very delicious. Crowley, who before any private chefs had come into his life had subsided mainly on a diet of air and spite, with some instant rice thrown in(it was the one thing he could cook, mainly because he knew how to work a microwave) highly doubted Aziraphale would be able to teach him anything. No doubt the evening’s lesson would end up with them both furious and Crowley frustrated and angry.

Crowley inspected the philodendron for any spots as his mind wandered. It wasn’t that he didn’t like learning. He loved it, had always loved finding out new things. He was a voracious reader(though not on the same level as Aziraphale, who could devour three books a day) and when young had asked so many questions that his teachers hadn’t known what to do with him.

Of course, that was all Before. Now...oh, the doctors had all sorts of names for it. ‘Recursive brain damage’. ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’. And so on. Now, whenever Crowley tried focusing for too long on a task, his brain would-skip. He’d lose large chunks of what he was supposed to be doing, or he would repeat a step over and over, telling himself that it had to be absolutely perfect, or he couldn’t go on to the next. Or he would try to read, and the words would blur together and run off the page. He could manage the writing because it was almost automatic for him, and truth be told, Ana’s articles required a minimum amount of mental energy.

He misted a few of the plants, grimacing. He just hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t be too angry when Crowley inevitably failed to grasp a cooking lesson.

The sound of the flat door opening set his heart pounding, both in fear and excitement. “Crowley! I’m home!”

Crowley set down the mister and wiped his hands on his slacks before heading out to the living area. Aziraphale was in the kitchen, unpacking the groceries. Crowley came over and wrapped around him from behind, breathing in the sun-warmed chef and nuzzling into his neck. Aziraphale reached up and stroked his cheek.

“Y’re warm.” Crowley mumbled. “Feel’s good.”

Aziraphale managed to put up the salt even with Crowley clinging to him. “Yes, it is a bit toasty outside. Summer is in full swing.”

Crowley hummed. “D’nt burn.”

“Hmm? Oh, no worries. I’m not outside long enough for that.”

Crowley kissed his neck and moved so he was leaning against the counter. “I used to burn a lot when I was a kid.” Aziraphale glanced pointedly at his flaming hair. Crowley laughed. “Yeah, that’s part of it. But I also loved being outside. I’d spend hours running around with my mates, and of course back then no one worried about skin cancer or any of that stuff. I’d come home red as a lobster and Mum would slap calamine lotion on my burn and chuck me in a cold tub. We’d go on holiday to the beach every summer and I’d end up as red as my hair most days.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Of course, these days I can’t set one foot outside this flat without going into a severe panic attack. Boy, times change.”

Aziraphale winced in sympathy. “I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be for you.”

“I went to therapy for it, you know. The agoraphobia. I had to psych myself up for three days beforehand, and I almost had a panic attack on the bus, but Someone must have been watching over me because I made it to my session. The doctor was nice enough, and we talked about...about what happened to me over in Afghanistan. He suggested that maybe I needed to..try going outside for small increments of time, and to not go very far, just down the street a bit.”

Aziraphale began gathering ingredients. “And did you?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I figured, he’s a doctor, he knows what he’s doing, right? So about a week after the session, I decide I’m going to walk to the cafe around the corner. So out I go, pushing down the panic and telling myself I can do this.”

Aziraphale pulled out his cutting boards and placed them next to each other on the counter. “And what happened?”

“I collapsed in the lobby and had to be carried back upstairs. I dropped that doctor and found another one. This one decided that turning me into a zombie was the best method.”

“A zombie?”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale placed two large potatoes and a bundle of carrots on one cutting board. “Effectively, yeah. I was given a cocktail of ‘anti-psychotic’ drugs that were supposed to make it so I didn’t panic if I left the flat. Instead they made it so I didn’t want to do anything. After that I said a collective ‘fuck you’ to the so called medical professionals and decided my money was better spent elsewhere.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Therapists are expensive.” Crowley scoffed and waved a hand.

“I could afford more, if I wanted.”

Aziraphale dug into the final bag and pulled out a large roast, placing it on the empty cutting board. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Loaded, me. Didn’t you know that?”

Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder as he assembled his knives. “I guessed you had some money, due to this flat and the rather expensive furniture in it, plus the fact that you can afford private chefs, which do not come cheap. But no, I didn’t know you were ‘loaded’ as you say.”

Crowley tried to snitch a carrot, pouting when Aziraphale smacked his hand. “Oh yeah. See, my Gran and Pop had a shitton of money due to some really good investments Pop made when he was younger, and when they died, they left me a portion of it.”

“Would be uncouth to ask…?”

Crowley managed to snatch a carrot. He bit a piece off before answering. “Five million pounds? I think.”

“F..five..mi..ll...” Aziraphale stammered.

“Yeah, think so. Mum and Dad got about six each. The rest is all land or tied up in stocks. I used about five thou to buy this flat outright, and another five hundred to furnish it. That money combined with what I used to make as a journalist means I get to lead a pretty cushy life trapped inside these four walls.”

Aziraphale patted his arm in sympathy. “Yes, you certainly do. Now, wash your hands and let’s start the cooking lesson, okay? We’re doing a roast, one of the simplest things ever.” Crowley washed up, then came to stand next to Aziraphale, who handed him a knife. “You can cut up the carrots.”

Crowley gulped and held the knife above the carrots, point side down. Aziraphale adjusted his grip, placing the knife blade against a carrot. Crowley pressed down, and the carrot went flying across the counter. Aziraphale retrieved it. “It helps if you hold the carrot, darling.”

“I knew that.” Crowley said, pouting. He held the carrot down and began sawing at it, tongue sticking out. “It’s not working! God, I’m so fucking useless!”

Aziraphale smiled and took Crowley’s hands in his. “You are not useless, you’re just frustrated. Take a breath, love. Now, hold the carrot down in this hand...that’s it. Now, you’re not sawing. You’re chopping. Just press down. My knives are sharp enough that you don’t have to apply a lot of pressure.”

Crowley pressed down, and a piece of carrot fell off and onto the board. “I did it!”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “See? I told you. Now, just do that again until the carrot is chopped.”

It took a while, but eventually Crowley managed to chop all the carrots.(and if some pieces were larger or smaller than others, well, that was okay) Aziraphale arranged them in the pan, along with the potatoes. “Now comes the fun part, seasoning the roast. We of course have the staples of salt and pepper. Take a pinch of each and sprinkle the roast.” Crowley did, and Aziraphale grinned. “Excellent. Now, what other spice or herb would you like? We’ve got rosemary, which I sprinkled on the potatoes, or lemon pepper, which gives it a lovely tangy taste, or we could even add some ground up coffee for a vigorous flavor. It’s your choice.”

Crowley’s breath was harsh. “I..I..I..I don’t know! I can’t think!”

Aziraphale took his hand. “It’s okay, love. Breathe.” Crowley whined, shaking. “Shh. Shh, it’s okay. I’ll do the rosemary, how does that sound?” Crowley nodded. “Okay. Rosemary it is. I’m going to let you put it on, okay? It’ll be really easy, I promise.”

“Okay.” Crowley said in a small voice. Aziraphale placed the rosemary in his hands.

“Now, all you have to do is take a few sprigs and place them on top of the roast. It doesn’t matter where, okay?” Crowley nodded and placed the sprigs at random intervals on the roast. “Oh, good job, love! Now all that’s left is to put it in the oven and wait.”

Once the roast was in the oven, they went into the living room and sat together on the sofa. “So, you’ve helped make a meal. How do you feel?”

Crowley laughed at the unintentional rhyme. “I feel okay. Just hope I didn’t mangle it.”

“You did just fine, my darling.” Crowley sighed and leaned against Aziraphale. The chef ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, smiling to himself at the other man’s purr of satisfaction. “Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you...get on with your parents?”

Crowley blinked. “Um, well enough, yeah. I mean, they know I’m gay, and they’re...accepting of it. Why?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Just wondering.”

“Do you not get on with yours?”

“Oh, with my mother, yes. She and I are best friends. She’s the one who encouraged my cooking. My father-he does love me, I think , but he’s...the best way I can put it is he’s...baffled by me. My brothers...”

“Brothers? Thought you just had the one.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “No, I have two. Sandy’s a lawyer. Anyway, both he and Gabriel are very...macho. Growing up, they played all the sports, and had girls hanging off them, while I preferred books and boys. I tried going out for rugby and nearly ended up with a broken nose. Father was pretty upset, especially since he used to play semi-professionally. Gabriel of course saw it as another reason to bully me. He even bullied me for cooking, saying that it was Mother’s job. Granted, it literally was, but she still loved the help.”

“Your mum was a cook?”

Aziraphale nodded. “She worked as a chef at one of the local restaurants. I’d go there after school let out and hang about in the kitchen, watching her work. One night she pulls out a step stool and tells me to come up to the counter, because she’s going to show me how to chop vegetables. I climb up, she hands me a knife, and that was it. I fell in love with cooking.”

Crowley snuggled closer. “How old were you?”

“Seven. Mother supervised every step.”

“She still working?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yep, and everyone loves her. Father jokingly says that she’s going to be buried in chef’s whites.”

“My mum was a teacher. English. She liked her job well enough. Dad worked in a factory, doing something. I dunno what. He made a bit more, but he was always complaining about his bosses. Hardest thing for them both was dealing with my allergies. I’ve always been severe gluten intolerant and had the peanut allergy, as well as the dairy thing, and a lot of others, so that meant a strict diet for all of us, but the shellfish thing came later, when I was in secondary. I’d gone out with a bunch of my friends to celebrate passing my exams, and I ordered this seafood pasta with shrimp and scallops. I take a bite, and the next thing I know I’m in hospital with an IV hooked up to me. Turns out I had gone into anaphylactic shock and nearly died. So docs come in, run a full blood test and allergen regimen, and surprise, surprise, I’m now allergic to shellfish. Which sucked for me, because I fucking loved shrimp growing up. I still miss it sometimes.”

“I imagine so.”

The oven dinged, and Aziraphale gently detached himself and went into the kitchen, pulled the roast out, and set it on the counter. “Crowley, why don’t you go ahead and set the table.”

“Sure thing, Angel.” Crowley stood and went over to the cabinet where the plates were kept, pulling down two. He gathered the silverware, then went to the dining room and placed everything in front of his and Aziraphale’s places, making sure that the utensils were lined up. He placed the water glasses in front of the plates and the wine glasses next to them.

Aziraphale finished carving the roast and transferred it over to the large platter, arranging the vegetables around it before carrying it out to the table. “Here we are!”

Crowley inhaled. “Smells so good!”

“It does, and you helped to make it!”

Crowley looked down at the cloth. “Just chopped the carrots.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Yes, and that was a big help. Don’t sell yourself so short, my love. Now, shall we dig in?”

“Yeah.”

Dinner turned out to be a roaring success.


	10. Sweet And Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a lovely surprise for Crowley.

Chapter Ten: Sweet And Heat

Aziraphale felt the stirrings of excitement as he laid out his purchases on the bed. He had hidden the bag they came in inside one of his grocery bags, knowing that Crowley respected his privacy too much to go snooping. “I trust you, Angel,” he had said, giving Aziraphale that smile that made the chef weak in the knees. So Aziraphale had hatched this plan, knowing that Crowley would be curious but wouldn’t pry too hard. The most difficult part, really, had been in the purchasing of the...merchandise. Aziraphale was not one to wear that sort of clothing, normally, so he had needed a great deal of help in choosing items that were not only sexy but comfortable. He didn’t fancy chafing in...sensitive areas. The lady in the shop had been most polite and helpful, not even batting an eye when Aziraphale blushingly admitted the items were a surprise for his boyfriend. She had helped him find quite a few things that showed off his curves without making him look too old.

Aziraphale selected an outfit and went into the bathroom to try it on. The camisole was a deep blue and dipped in the front, with a black border of feathers all around. It was, naturally, silk. The panties were also blue, and made of a lovely satin material. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt a frisson of excitement. He looked-sexy. His curves were rather lush, and his legs looked rather good, framed by the camisole and panties. One last item. He dug the stockings out of the bag, along with the silken garters. He slipped them on, then went back to the bedroom, hid the other outfits, then climbed onto the bed and made himself comfortable.

He had taken the precaution of putting Crowley’s camera on the dresser, in case his lover’s brain short circuited. “Crowley, darling? Could you come in here, please?”

He heard the television turn off, then footsteps coming towards the bedroom. “Yeah, sure, Angel what...NGK...Gah...bwuh...hnnngg...” Crowley’s jaw worked as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

Aziraphale smiled. “Do you like what you see?”

“Guh...uh...yuh...” Crowley was nearly drooling as his gaze raked up and down the silk and satin clad chef. “Whuh?”

“Your camera is over on the dresser, dear. I thought it might be fun to take a few...intimate pictures, and I remember you saying you wanted to see me wrapped in silk and satin. Is this satisfactory?”

Crowley could only make a strangled moaning sound. With the motions of an automaton, he went over and picked up his camera, then turned and faced the bed, more turned on than he had ever been in his life. “God, baby, you look fucking...delectable. Could you um...get on your knees for me?”

Aziraphale smiled coyly. “Of course.” He scooted forward, then got up on his knees. “Where do you want my hands, darling?”

“Uh...behind your head? Like a..like a pinup pose. You know?” Crowley adjusted the lens. Aziraphale put his hands behind his head, giving him a sultry, come hither smile. Crowley nearly came in his trousers. “C..could you, um...move your...um..hips forward a bit?” Aziraphale did, and Crowley could see his cock brushing against the satin panties and **oh dear someone he was wearing fucking garters** and hose. “Good.” He managed to squeak out. 

Crowley had no idea how he managed to snap a picture without dropping the camera and pouncing on the gorgeous angel in the bed,  but manage it he did. Aziraphale was the perfect subject, striking the exact poses Crowley wanted and giving him a smile that made his insides squirm with lust. His own cock was rock hard and straining in his trousers. “Crowley?” 

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale batted his eyes. “Can you take pictures with one hand?” 

Crowley gulped. “Um...yeah. Why?”

Aziraphale scooted forward and brushed his hand over Crowley’s trousers. “Could you touch yourself while you take my pictures? Could you do that for me?” 

Crowley unbuttoned his trousers faster than he ever had in his life, panting hard, eyes wide and wild with lust. “Oh, fuck yes, Aziraphale, I’ll do anything you want...” he moaned, hand on his throbbing cock. He gave it a stroke, moaning deep. “Fuck, Angel, take any fucking pose you want..”

Aziraphale smirked, then turned and grabbed onto the headboard, thrusting his satin covered ass in the air and turning so that his erect cock could be seen straining in its confines. Crowley let out an animalistic  moan of want and snapped the picture, his other hand stroking in a steady rhythm. “Fuck, this is so fucking hot, the hottest fucking thing I have ever done, you are so fucking sexy like this, baby...”

Aziraphale whined in pride. He felt sexier than he ever had in his life. Seeing Crowley undone, seeing the lust and desire burning in his eyes, erased every doubt and fear that Aziraphale had had. This wasn’t degrading, or humiliating, as a small part of him had feared. It was liberating. It was desirable. Most of all, it was exciting and erotic. Aziraphale was incredibly turned on. The camera clicked, and suddenly Aziraphale realized he didn’t want any more pictures. “Crowley.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop taking pictures, put the camera down, and get over here and fuck me.” Aziraphale said in a commanding tone. Crowley blinked at him, then dropped the camera and with a whine of desire, tore off his trousers and leaped onto the bed, kissing him desperately. 

“Fuck, yes, Angel, anything...” Crowley moaned, his tongue tracing patterns on Aziraphale’s neck. “I’ll do anything...”

“I know, my sweet boy. Now, you may remove my panties, but if you tear them, I will be cross. Do not remove the camisole, stockings, or garters, understand?” Crowley nodded frantically. “Good boy.” Crowley whined high in his throat, eyes shining with lust. 

He very carefully took Aziraphale’s panties in both hands, tugging the material over the chef’s bulging erection. He pulled them off, taking his time, then folded them neatly and set them on the floor. “Aziraphale, may I please suck you?”

“What a darling you are for asking. Of course.” Aziraphale said, smiling coyly. Crowley moaned and licked his cock. “Darling, that’s lovely...” Crowley whined, then swallowed him down. Aziraphale grasped his hair in his fists, words of praise and encouragement coming from his lips. “Such a talented mouth you have, my darling. So hot, so sweet, so good. Such a good lover you are, my darling, giving me such exquisite pleasure, and receiving it in return. We were made for each other, my perfect love, my dearest darling Cr...Ahhh...owley...how I love you when you’re like this, with my cock in that perfect mouth, I could lay like this for hours...you...so...ohh...ohh...OHHH GOD!” Aziraphale whited out as he came down Crowley’s throat. The writer groaned and swallowed before pulling off with a loud pop. Aziraphale smiled at him. “Such a talented mouth, my love. Now, why don’t you come up here and show me what that cock of yours can do, hmm?”

Crowley almost flew. He kissed Aziraphale hard, their tongues moving together. “L..lube. N..need...” 

Aziraphale growled and wrenched open the dresser, dug out the lube and slapped it into his hand. Crowley had it open and his fingers slicked up in seconds. He tossed it aside, then grabbed Aziraphale’s silk clad legs and hoisted them over his shoulders, then with a growl shoved three fingers in deep, scissoring them. Aziraphale screeched and nearly achieved orbit. Crowley worked him with his fingers, panting, and Aziraphale sobbed. “Oh please Crowley please I need you please please please...”

Crowley was nearly animalistic with lust. The sight of Aziraphale in the camisole, stockings, and garters was pushing him over the edge, and he wanted nothing more than to mount him, claim him. With a growl that shook his frame, he removed his fingers, then lined himself up and slammed into his lover’s slick hole. 

Aziraphale felt the breath leave his body as Crowley entered him. “Oh...god...” 

And then Crowley began to move, and all Aziraphale could do was wrap his legs around Crowley and hold on to the headboard for dear life. Crowley fucked into him harder than he ever had before, his hips snapping at a pace Aziraphale didn’t know was humanly possible.  Crowley’s cock was hitting every single nerve ending inside Aziraphale, sending tsunamis of pleasure through his entire body. Crowley’s eyes were dark with animal lust, and he was growling Aziraphale’s name over and over. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yes, oh fuck Crowley, yes, yours, all yours, only yours, oh my god, fuck me, oh god it’s so fucking good...”

Crowley somehow scooted closer, and Aziraphale felt a surge of white hot pleasure as the writer found a different position, hitting the chef’s prostrate over and over. “Ohmygd..” Aziraphale slurred, beyond coherent thought. “So g’d...”

Crowley kept up his relentless pace for what seemed like hours. “Aziraphale..I...I’m...” He threw his head back and shrieked Aziraphale’s name as the most intense series of orgasms he had ever felt rocketed through him, sending his soul flying out of his body, around the universe, then back into him. Beneath him, Aziraphale was shrieking like a fire engine, his own face a mask of wild lust,  his body shaking. 

Crowley collapsed against Aziraphale’s chest, both of them panting like bellows. Crowley felt completely wrung out. He didn’t think he could move his pinky finger without passing out from exhaustion. He was limp, weak, and felt better than he ever had  in his life . “hnng...” 

Aziraphale could only murmur in response. He looked at Crowley, tired eyes bright with love, a sleepy smile on his face. Crowley smiled back and kissed Aziraphale’s hand. “Bth?” the writer mumbled, and Aziraphale nodded, yawning. 

Crowley smiled dopily at his love and stumbled out of bed, staggering to the bathroom. One of the things that had endeared him to this flat, besides the space, had been the enormous tub in the bathroom. It was easily big enough for two people and sunken into the floor. The shower, too, was enormous, and Crowley had made some  **very nice** memories in there with Aziraphale. But the bath was for relaxing, for holding each other after a night of vigorous love making. Crowley turned on the faucets, making sure the water was pleasantly warm, but not hot. He arranged the soaps and cloths so they were within easy reach, then poured the scented oil-violet-into the tub, swirling it around with his hands. Once the tub was full, he shut off the water and went back out to the bedroom. “Aziraphale, love, bath’s ready.”

Aziraphale slid out of bed and slowly removed his camisole, then sat back on the bed and lifted one stocking-clad leg up. “You take them off.” Crowley gulped and came forward. Aziraphale pressed his foot against his cock, and the writer growled, stroking his leg and grabbing the garter. “No laddering them, they were expensive!”

“Really?”

Aziraphale grinned. “What, did you think I’d settle for the cheap stuff?”

“I think..” Crowley growled as he rolled down one stocking, “That you are a hedonistic, kinky bastard who appreciates the finer things.” He rolled one stocking down past Aziraphale’s foot then set to work on the other. “I also think that I would very much love to see you in this outfit again. Say, while you were serving me dinner.”

“Oh, I have another outfit for that. It even comes with an apron!” 

Crowley nearly fainted. “ Yeah? Could I ...see it sometime?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, that is the reason I bought them. Now, shall we have that bath?” 

Crowley could only nod. Aziraphale smirked and went into the bathroom, sliding into the warm water. “Oh, this is quite heavenly.” 

Crowley climbed in and settled against Aziraphale, sighing in contentment. “Yeah. You know you looked beautiful in that lingerie, right? I don’t know if I told you, but you did.”

“I figured by your rather enthusiastic reaction that you liked them.”

“Very much.” Crowley took a deep breath. “And um...this brings up something that I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time, but never had the courage to. I’m...well, I don’t identify as a man all the time. I don’t um...have any...outfits any more, because I don’t go out, but um...sometimes I’m a woman. Or both.”

“You’re genderfluid?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I...figured it out when I was in Uni. I’d never felt...fully like a guy, but I knew I wasn’t trans, you know? Sometimes I wanted to be girly, and I’d wear lipstick and mascara and borrow some dresses from my roommate’s sister, who looking back was pretty chill about the whole thing. Then there would be days where I didn’t feel like either. I was pretty lost, cuz growing up I wasn’t really...around  a lot of queer people, so I didn’t have a word for how I felt sometimes.” He chuckled. “Funnily enough, it was Bee who started me on my own voyage of discovery, as it were. They came out as non binary to their family when they turned eighteen, and that got me wondering about some things. I called them when I figured it out.”

“What did they say?”

Crowley laughed. “They said, and I quote, ‘It’s about fucking time you figured it out, because I was about to tape a giant sign saying YOU’RE GENDERFLUID, YOU DUMB ASSHOLE’ to your forehead.’” 

Aziraphale laughed so hard he hiccuped. Crowley blinked at him, then joined in the hysteria. 

When the laughter died down, Aziraphale looked solemnly at Crowley. “I could buy you some dresses, if you want. Even though you don’t go out, I would dearly love to have dinner with you when you’re female presenting.” 

Crowley sniffled. “Y..you would?” 

“Of course I would, darling. I love you, no matter what gender you are.” Aziraphale said softly, hands cupping Crowley’s face. “You are perfect, no matter what.”

So that was how Crowley found herself, one week later, staring at her reflection in the mirror. A reflection that was wearing a dark red sleeveless dress with a plunging neck and back held together by a few large buttons. Around her neck she wore the golden snake necklace, and she had on dark red lipstick. Her nails were a deep crimson, to match the dress. She took a deep breath, then stepped out of the bedroom and towards the dining room where Aziraphale was waiting. 

Aziraphale’s jaw hit his chest as Crowley came into view, a shy, uncertain smile on her face. “Ohh...” Aziraphale gulped. “My darling, you are...breathtaking.”

“Really?” The smile was more certain now. Aziraphale stepped forward and gathered her into his arms.

“Beautiful beyond all others, my...do you have a different name, my love? Or are you still my darling Anthony?”

Crowley blushed. “It’s Tonya. I..just liked the name, nothing to do with the skater.” (She had been asked that question so many times that the response was automatic)

Aziraphale stood on tiptoe and kissed her. “My lovely Tonya.  How exquisitely lovely you are. I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat with such a gorgeous siren at my table.”

Crowley snorted. “I’m sure you’ll manage, Angel. What’s for dinner anyway?”

“Baked whole salmon with new potatoes and carrots. One of your favorites, I believe. With baked apples for dessert.”

“Honey and cinnamon on the apples?” Crowley asked, eyes wide in eager anticipation.

“But of course.” Aziraphale replied, laughing. Crowley grinned and nearly ran to the table. 

Aziraphale went into the kitchen and came out with two plates piled high with food. Crowley inhaled, sighing. She loved Aziraphale’s baked salmon. It always came out so juicy and full of flavor. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley took a sip of water and looked over at the chef. “D’you think...maybe next time you make this, I could help?” She had had a few more cooking lessons since the roast(she could now make pretty decent coleslaw, and had some modicum of success in making roasted potatoes), and each time Aziraphale had praised her wholeheartedly. “I know it’s probably asking too much, so...”

“It is not asking too much, love. I would be more than happy to show you how to cook this dish. Biggest thing would be learning how to filet the fish, and I have every confidence that you would be able to do it with a minimum amount of help from me.”

Crowley blushed and dug into her carrots. Praise from Aziraphale always made her feel like she was floating. It made her ecstatically happy. “Okay.” 

Later that night, she discovered that Aziraphale’s cries of “Oh, such a good girl you are, my love, such a sweet girl for me..” had the same intoxicating effect as when he praised Crowley and called him “My sweet darling boy.” 

Aziraphale smiled down at his exhausted lover. Stars, but she was gorgeous. He fervently hoped that she would choose to become female again. But whether he was Anthony, she was Tonya, or they were Crowley, one thing Aziraphale knew for certain. 

He loved Crowley with every breath in his lungs. 

Aziraphale settled himself on Crowley, pulling the blanket over them both. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

Crowley ‘hmmed’ and snuggled up to the chef. 

They fell asleep, arms and legs wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. 


	11. Spice is the Variety of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley changes genders again and proves that they can be cool in a crisis.

Chapter Eleven: Spice is The Variety of Life

Crowley smiled as they examined themselves in the bedroom mirror. Aziraphale was out doing the weekly shop, and they wanted to surprise him when he got home. They had on a dark blue skirt, slit down both sides to show off their long, lean legs, a dark blue men’s button up shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned, and they had styled their long hair into a braid that fell over their shoulders. They also had put on lipstick and painted their nails.

Crowley felt the stirrings of nerves. While they had presented female many times since that night when they told Aziraphale about their gender fluidity, they had never presented as both. They sincerely hoped Aziraphale liked what he saw.

The sound of the flat door opening brought them out of their thoughts, and they took a deep breath before heading out to the kitchen. Aziraphale’s back was to them as he put up groceries, humming to himself. Crowley watched him for a few minutes, feeling as always a rush of love that made them dizzy. They still couldn’t believe fully that this gorgeous man was in their bed every night.

Crowley softly cleared their throat, and Aziraphale turned, jaw dropping. “Crowley, my love, you look beautiful. May I ask if you..is this a pronoun change, my darling?”

“Yeah. They/them. I haven’t, um...done that one in a bit. Do you...um, do you mind?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Darling, why would I mind? I’ve told you, I love you no matter what gender or genders you choose to present yourself as. You’re breathtaking in all of them. Now, come over here and give me a proper kiss, please.”

Crowley was more than happy to oblige. They kissed Aziraphale for several blissful moments, relishing the taste and feel of him. “I love you so much, Angel. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying it.”

Aziraphale smiled at them. “Good, because I will never tire of hearing it, and saying it back to you. I love you more than anything, Crowley. More than I would ever be able to say in a million lifetimes.”

Crowley hugged Aziraphale tightly, resting their head on his shoulder. Aziraphale stroked their hair, fingering the braid. “I do love this.”

“It’s a pain. Was gonna take it out.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh please keep it, just for a bit. You look so lovely with braided hair. In fact, I could...braid it next time?”

Crowley tilted their head so they could look up at him. “You know how to braid hair?” Aziraphale nodded. “How? You don’t have any sisters, and I can’t see you with long hair.”

Aziraphale snorted in amusement. “I have **cousins** , darling. One of whom, Harriet, has always had long hair. She and I were close growing up. I would spend summers at her house, and she showed me how to braid her hair. I would also braid the hair of some of the female chefs in culinary school when they asked. So yes, I know how to braid hair.”

“So what happened to your cousin? You said you were close as kids.”

Aziraphale blew out a breath. “She ended up marrying and moving to the States. Her husband and I..let’s just say we vehemently disagree about...certain matters. I was rather opposed to Harriet marrying Thaddeus (Aziraphale spat out the name as if it was something disgusting) in the first place, but she was adamant that she could get him to change. So now here we are ten years later, and she’s trapped in a miserable marriage to a boor of a man who alternates between ignoring her and their child and bragging to all and sundry that he has the perfect wife and an obedient son.” Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve never met him. My...I suppose he would be my second cousin, since he’s Harriet’s son. She named him Warlock, one last act of defiance.”

Crowley felt a pang of sympathy. They were pretty certain of the ‘matters’ that this Thaddeus fellow and Aziraphale disagreed on. “Have you tried contacting your cousin, seeing if she wants to get back in touch?”

Aziraphale opened the fridge and got out the sharp cheddar and a pair of apples. He cored both apples, then began cutting them. “I did. A few years after Warlock was born, I found their number on the Google. I called, and much to my dismay, Thaddeus answered.” He got down two plates, and placed the apple slices on them. He bent down to get the grater. Crowley whistled, and Aziraphale snorted in amusement.  He straightened up, giving his lover a mock glare, then began grating the cheese, placing a slice on each piece of apple. “I asked to speak to Harriet. At first Thaddeus outright refused, saying some very uncouth things about my sexual preferences, but I was adamant.” Aziraphale looked down at the counter. “When she...finally came to the phone, she told me that...I shouldn’t have called her. She said that...she realized now that I was...that my behavior, my mannerisms, they were...a sin.”

“SHE SAID WHAT?!” Crowley felt a fury like they had never known. Aziraphale gulped, nodding. 

“It um...it turned out that Thaddeus was a member of this um...extremely conservative church, and he had...taken Harriet to a few of their meetings, and it didn’t take long for her to..change. All this time, she insisted that she could make him change, and she ended up being the one changing. She can’t divorce him because that would make her a pariah in the community. I tried calling once more after that, even wrote a letter saying that even if things had changed between us, she was still my cousin and I loved her, and that I was hoping to meet Warlock.” 

Crowley took a piece of apple with cheese. “So what happened?” 

Aziraphale munched on his own slice before answering. “She wrote back basically telling me that was impossible, and to never write her again.” Crowley hugged him in sympathy. “But, there is one silver lining out of all this. A few weeks  before I met you , I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. I was curious, so I answered. You’ll never guess who it turned out to be.”

Crowley grinned. “Warlock!”

Aziraphale laughed. He picked his plate up and went to the sofa, Crowley following. Once they were settled, Aziraphale continued. “It was indeed. I answer, and this young man’s voice asks. ‘Is this...Aziraphale Fell?’ I tell him it is, and of course ask who he is. When he told me he was Warlock, I nearly fell over. We talked for  what felt like hours. He’s a bright child, and I feel sorry for him. He’s doing his best to counter the poison that his parents keep feeding him, but there’s only so much he can do, since he is only eleven.” 

“D’you still keep in touch?”

Aziraphale nodded. “We text each other, as that’s much cheaper than calling, plus I write to him once a month to catch him up on what’s going on in my life.” The chef blushed. “In my last letter, I told him about you and how much I loved you. I didn’t use your name, though. Warlock and I have..a code, so in case our letters are intercepted his parents won’t be able to figure out who we’re writing to. I call you C in the letters, and there’s no mention of your gen der. Warlock wrote back saying how neat you sounded.”

Crowley snorted. “I take it you didn’t tell him that I have crippling agoraphobia? Because that’s not very neat.”

“Of course I didn’t tell him. That’s not for me to tell, darling. I merely told him that you were a wonderful person with a larger than life personality that made me happier than I had been in a very long time, and that being in love with you was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I extolled your virtues, not your...”

“Flaws? Shortcomings?” 

“Your secrets, darling. Your private matters. Those things that are nobody’s business to tell but yours.” 

Crowley swallowed. “Aziraphale?” 

“Yes, my love?”

“What did I do to deserve you? Tell me, and I’ll keep doing it.”

Aziraphale kissed them. “You didn’t do anything except be your amazing self, my love. You are kind, and thoughtful, and intelligent, funny, clever, wicked...and I love you more with each passing day. Every time I think that I can’t love you more than I do already, you prove me wrong. I am overwhelmed with love for you.”

Crowley wrapped themselves around Aziraphale. “Yeah, me too. Every time I wake up and see you in bed next to me, my heart feels like it’s going to burst, I love you so much. You’re so patient with me on my bad days, and so gentle with me when I have my flashbacks. You don’t mock me for not being able to set foot outside this flat without collapsing, and you know how to talk me down when I’m...in a bad place. You have this...well of infinite kindness, and you never yell or scream at me, no matter how angry I make you. And I know I have. I’m not...the most emotionally stable of people, as you are well aware. But no matter what I say, you’ve never...left.” 

Aziraphale kissed the top of their head. “And I never will. I love all of you, my darling. These past few months have been paradise for me. Deciding to become your private chef was the best decision I have ever made. Not just because you consistently praise my efforts..”

“You’re an amazing cook.”

“But also because by doing so, I met the love of my life. And it only took me thirty seven years.”

Crowley grinned. “Took me forty. I...you know by now I did love Mark, but...looking back, I can’t..honestly say he was the love of my life. You are, though.” 

Aziraphale shifted so he could kiss them properly. “Darling, if it’s not asking too much, how long were you and Mark an...item?”

Crowley sighed. “Three months. It took me nearly two months to admit to myself I was attracted to him, then another month for him to make a move on me. We didn’t have long, because my assignment was only supposed to be six months. I was..going to ask for an expansion, using the excuse that the soldiers still had more stories to tell, but before I could put in the request to my editor, the um...the accident happened. As you can guess, after that I not only didn’t want to put in any requests, I wanted to get as far away from Afghanistan as I possibly could.” 

“I don’t blame you, darling. Did Mark know about your fluidity?”

Crowley shook their head. “That was the one thing I kept secret from him. To be honest, I was scared how he would react, or if he would even understand what I was talking about. I thought that, maybe some time down the line, I’d find a way to bring it up, but I never did.” 

“I’m very glad you found the courage to tell me.”

Crowley kissed his cheek. “Because you inspire me to courage, my love. You make me want to be a better person, because I want to be the best person I can for you.” They giggled. “You and Mark do have one thing in common.” 

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh, what’s that?”

Crowley giggled again. “He could never figure out what my middle initial stood for either. It drove him nuts. He’d throw out every name starting with J that he could think of, and every time, by some bizarre coincidence, he would be wrong. It got to the point that he had a pool going with some of the other guys. They’d write down their guesses, and if anyone was right, they got fifty bucks. If they were wrong, I got the money. Let me tell you, I cleaned up.”

Aziraphale groaned. He had, indeed, tried in vain to guess what the ‘J’ in Crowley’s name stood for. Crowley’s smug smile and declaration of “It’s just a J, really” had only made the chef more determined to find out what it stood for. So far he had tried Jeffrey, Jerry, Jerome, Joseph, Johnathon(and all the varieties thereof) Jean, Jack, Justin, Jacques, and so forth. Each time Crowley had smirked, shaken their head and told Aziraphale to guess again. Aziraphale had even tried female names. He had volunteered his own middle name(Zachariah) in hopes that Crowley would sympathize and volunteer their own middle name out of pity.  Crowley had indeed sympathized(“That’s quite the mouthful, Angel”) but had kept tight lipped about their own middle name. “You get some sort of perverse enjoyment out of making everyone guess it, don’t you?”

Crowley cackled. “Yep. I even got Anathema guessing. She emails me once a week with her latest guess, and I tell her that once again, she’s wrong. No one’s ever guessed it, and I make it a point of pride that no one ever will.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kissed them. “You are downright incorrigible, my love. Still, as far as hobbies go, it’s a harmless one. Speaking of, how are the plants doing? Do the succulents I bought last week fit in?”

Crowley beamed. After Aziraphale had bought then their first set of plants, he had made it a habit to stop by the garden center once a week to purchase one new plant. The spare room was now a jungle of foliage and color, and Crowley loved spending time in there. Aziraphale had arranged for another table to be delivered, and he and Crowley had spent an afternoon putting it together and arranging more plants on it. There were even a few hanging plants set on hooks that Crowley had screwed into the wall. “Yeah, they’re doing great. I put them next to the cacti you bought me. The one pancake plant was drooping a bit, but I straightened it right out.”

“Yes, I heard you.” Aziraphale said dryly. Crowley chuckled. 

“Well, they need to learn to not droop on me.”

Aziraphale just rolled his eyes. He was about to pull Crowley into a kiss that would, with luck, end in the bedroom when his phone rang. He sighed and dug it out of his pocket. “Adam’s calling me.” He swiped to answer. “Hello, Adam.’

“Aziraphale! Eve’s having her baby!”

Aziraphale frowned in confusion. “That’s...lovely, but why call me? You should be on your way to the hospital.”

Adam’s voice was frantic. “No, you don’t understand. She’s  **having** her baby! Right now! I tried calling the doctor, but she’s not answering, and I don’t know what to do!” Behind him, Eve screamed in pain. “Aziraphale, what do I do?!”

Aziraphale was gasping himself. “I don’t...I have no experience in these matters, Adam!”

Crowley motioned for the phone. Aziraphale handed it over. “Hey, Adam? This is Crowley, Aziraphale’s partner. Pardon my somewhat blunt question, but does Eve still have her clothes on?”

“Yes!”

Crowley sat back. “Okay, tell her to take off everything below the waist.” He placed his hand over the phone. “Aziraphale, use my mobile to call the paramedics. Tell them what’s going on, and give them the..what’s their last name?”

“Jones.” 

“Give them the Jones’ address. Adam, you still there?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

“Okay. Aziraphale’s calling the paramedics, so no worries there. What I need you to do is prop Eve up so she’s in an upright position. Use as many pillows as you can.”

There was a brief pause, then Adam came back on the line. “Okay, now what?”

“Now you get behind her for support, and put your phone on speaker.” 

“Okay, done.”

Crowley turned on the speaker on Aziraphale’s phone. “Eve? Can you hear me?”

“Uh huh!”

“Okay, that’s good. Is the baby crowning? Can you see the head?”

Adam answered. “A little bit of it, yes!”

“Okay. Eve, this will most likely hurt like hell because you don’t have any medicine, but you’re going to have to push. Adam, when I tell you to, tell Eve to push. Eve, I want you to take a deep, deep breath. Adam..tell her.”

“Push!”

A loud scream came over the phone. Crowley winced in sympathy. “Okay, good job, Eve. Keep pushing. That baby wants to come out.”

Aziraphale came back into the living room. “Paramedics are on the way.”

Crowley nodded in acknowledgment. “You hear that? Medics are on the way. How’s it going?”

“It...feels...like..I’m...trying..to birth..a..fucking..watermelon...” Eve panted. Crowley giggled. 

Adam came back on the line. “I see the torso! The torso’s coming out! And the arms!” 

“Okay, great! Keep pushing, Eve, and deep breaths in and out.”

Suddenly, there was the sharp cry of a newborn infant. Crowley gave a shout of relieved joy. “Oh, there we go! Boy or girl, Eve?”

“Girl!” 

Aziraphale laughed in delight. “Congratulations!”

Adam laughed. “Medics just got here.” There was a brief pause, then a woman’s voice came over the speaker. 

“Mr. Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

The woman’s voice was full of pride. “Mrs. Jones tells me you were a great help. Are you a nurse?”

Crowley shook their head. “No, just someone who knows something about childbirth. Eve, congratulations again.” They hung up, smiling at the look of awe on Aziraphale’s face. “What?”

“How ever did you learn that?”

“I have a half sister, Deidre, and when she was pregnant with my nephew I would go to Lamaze classes with her on the occasions that her husband couldn’t make it. I retained the information. Never thought it would come in handy this far down the line, but I’m glad it did.”

“It did indeed. I’ve read plenty about the...birthing process, but obviously never experienced it firsthand. Thank goodness you were here.”

Crowley blushed. “I like kids, you know? They’re a bundle of chaos.”

“Sort of like you, “ Aziraphale said in a teasing tone. 

Crowley stuck out their tongue. 


	12. A Sweeter Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale face a future filled with promise.

Chapter Twelve: A Sweeter Future

Crowley was the first one up, for a change. He stirred into wakefulness, yawning until his jaw cracked pleasantly. He stretched, then sighed in happiness and pressed close to Aziraphale, who was still snuffling softly. Crowley kissed the back of his neck then slid out of bed, doing his best to not wake his sleeping angel. He padded to the bathroom and splashed water on his face before tending to his business.

Once that was done, he pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt and tiptoed into the kitchen. As quietly as he could, he gathered the ingredients he needed. Aziraphale had shown him how to make the hodge podge a few days earlier, and Crowley wanted to see if he could do it without needing any help.

He placed the meat on the cutting board and the potatoes on another, then washed off the mushrooms(gagging a bit at the raw mushroom smell, but fortunately just smelling them didn’t make him violently ill) before placing them next to the potatoes.

Crowley’s knife skills had gotten exponentially better over the past few weeks, and so his potatoes and mushrooms came out remarkably even. He set the sausage and bacon in a hot pan to cook, then once they were done he set the meat on a plate and dumped in the potatoes and mushrooms.

He buttered a large baking pan and placed the first layer of potatoes and mushrooms on the bottom, then another layer on top of bacon and sausage. He repeated this until the pan was nearly full to the top before grabbing the Cheddar out of the fridge and grating a generous portion on top of the mixture. That done, he popped it into the oven and waited for the cheese to melt.

While he was waiting, he got the kettle filled with water and got down Aziraphale’s tea(loose leaf, the chef would never have anything in a bag), placing a good portion of it in the strainer and placing the strainer above Aziraphale’s teapot. He knew by now how Aziraphale liked his tea. Very hot and very strong.

Crowley got down the nicer plates and set the table, making sure that the silverware lined up. He went back into the kitchen and peered into the stove. The cheese on top was bubbling, and Crowley grinned. Perfect. He turned off the oven and, using a potholder for each hand, got the hodge podge out and set it on a towel he had placed on the counter. It smelled delicious, and Crowley grinned.

He went back into the bedroom and knelt in front of Aziraphale. For a moment he just watched him sleep, his heart full to bursting with the love he felt for this man. “Aziraphale. Sweetness, wake up. Breakfast is ready.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale stirred, then opened sleepy blue eyes and smiled at Crowley. “What’s that about breakfast, darling?”

Crowley kissed his nose, grinning when Aziraphale scrunched up his forehead in that ridiculously adorable way he had. “Said it’s ready. I made it.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, lovely.” He took a breath. “Oh, the hodge podge! How wonderful. Give me a moment to get dressed, my love, and I will be right out.” He climbed out of bed and went over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of trousers and a shirt.

About two weeks ago, Crowley had mentioned that since Aziraphale slept in his(Crowley’s) room every night, it made logical sense for Aziraphale to move his clothing in as well. Aziraphale had agreed, and so Crowley’s room had officially become Their Room.

Crowley went back into the kitchen and poured the tea, setting the pot as well as Aziraphale’s mug on the table in front of his place setting. The hodge podge he placed in the center of the table, making sure the towel was still underneath. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat.

Aziraphale came into the dining room, beaming. “Oh, darling, it looks wonderful. Might I ask why you chose to make breakfast?”

Crowley blushed. “Wanted to do something nice for you. Today’s a special day, y’know.”

Aziraphale poured his tea and cut himself a slice of breakfast, placing it carefully on his plate. Crowley did the same. “Oh? Why is that?”

Crowley gave him a shy smile. “I lost something eight months ago today.”

“What?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s free hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip. “My heart. See, eight months ago exactly, I opened my door to find this beautiful blond chef on the other side of it. Well, I fell hard and fast for him.”

Aziraphale melted. “Oh, my dearest...”

“I love you so much, Aziraphale. Happy eight month anniversary.”

“You too, dear heart.”

Breakfast was a success(Crowley went red with pride when Aziraphale praised his ‘exemplary cooking skills’) and after the dishes had been done they snuggled up on the sofa, Crowley wrapped around his angel. They didn’t talk much, just exchanged soft kisses and words of devotion.

“I spoke to Adam today,” Aziraphale said, sighing at the feel of Crowley’s lips on his neck. “He says to tell you that Jasmine is doing fine.”

Crowley beamed. Eve had insisted that their baby be named for the man that helped to bring her into the world. Crowley had been overwhelmed with pride and imparted to Eve the secret of what his J stood for, asking only that she alter it enough so that no one would guess the real name. Eve had agreed, and so Jasmine Jones, or JJ to her Uncle Crowley, came to be. “That’s great. And before you go asking Eve what my J really stands for, I swore her to secrecy.” Aziraphale huffed, and Crowley laughed. “Do you want me to tell you?”

“I’ve been wanting you to tell me for the past three months, my love.” Aziraphale said in a petulant tone. Crowley giggled and kissed the frown off his face.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh. There’s a reason why I only go by my middle initial.” Aziraphale nodded solemnly, and Crowley let out a deep sigh. “It’s Jasper. I’m pretty sure Mum just picked the name out at random, because I don’t know anyone with that name.”

“Anthony Jasper Crowley.” Aziraphale let the name roll over his tongue. “It suits you, darling.”

“Ugh, there you go getting all sappy and loving over my stupid middle name. You really need to stop being so utterly wonderful, my sweet.” Crowley said, laughing. Aziraphale huffed and kissed him.

“I promise to be more awful in the future, dear heart.”

Crowley burst into giggles and kissed Aziraphale all over, the chef giggling as well.

Later, after Aziraphale left to do the shopping as well as the monthly check in at Fell’s, Crowley braved the walk down to the lobby. He was expecting something very important today, and he wanted to make sure it arrived on time. His hands were clammy and he was shaking like a leaf, but he managed to make it over to the post boxes without too much trouble. His hands shook as he dug his key out of his pocket and opened his box.

A small package sat inside, and he grabbed it, then sprinted back upstairs and to the safety of his flat. Behind him, he vaguely heard “...guy’s nuts, never goes outside.” Crowley bristled, but he was used to the whispers and taunts that followed him. He unlocked his door, then nearly fell inside, panting hard. He slid to the floor, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

After a bit, his legs stopped shaking and he stood, wobbling to the bedroom and placing the package on the dresser. He went into the kitchen and took his anti anxiety meds, washing them down with orange juice.

Two months ago, after Aziraphale’s persistent assistance that Crowley at least **try** to find a new doctor(“You can do virtual appointments, darling, but what you cannot do is manage this on your own. Find the help you need, or I will find it for you.”) Crowley had given in and begun the search for a doctor willing to conduct all appointments virtually. After weeks of futile searching, he finally found one that seemed to be a good fit. Dr. Martha Green specialized in treating patients with severe agoraphobia, and she had been one of the only doctors Crowley had that didn’t talk about curing him all together. Instead, they focused on managing it. Crowley was on anti anxiety medication, and it was helping a great deal with his panic attacks. Dr. Green was working with him to slowly expand his comfort zone. 

Crowley dug his phone out and dialed her number. After three rings, she answered. “Crowley. Hello.”

“I went to the lobby and back without going into a panic attack.”

Dr. Green’s voice was full of pride. “That’s wonderful. How did you feel?”

“Still scared. My hands were clammy and I was shaking, but I didn’t collapse! I got a package. It’s real special.”

“Oh? Would you like to tell me about it?”

Crowley blushed, knowing that Dr. Green couldn’t see him. “Um...well, you know Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“igotaringandimgonnaskhimtomrryme.” Crowley mumbled. Dr. Green laughed.

“Could you say that a bit more clearly?”

Crowley gulped. “I’m g’nna ask him to marry me.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Do you want to focus on being able to have the wedding someplace?”

“Y...yeah. As nice as my flat is, it’s not really um...a wedding venue. D’you think we could um...”

“Of course we could. Now, your next session is Friday at eight. We’ll start working on it then. And Crowley, I expect to know what he says.”

“Okay.” Crowley hung up, breathing in relief. He went over to the package and after a bit of effort, got it open. A small velvet ring box lay within, and Crowley opened it, beaming. The ring inside was a gold band with tiny blue topazes embedded in it. Crowley had had to guess at Aziraphale’s size(and luckily there had been a ring in that size in the jewelry store’s online catalog). He closed the box then slipped it into his pocket. 

Aziraphale, in the mean time, had been going over the inventory at Fells with Jacob, one of his chefs, when his phone rang. He dug it out, frowning. “Jacob, give me a moment.” Jacob nodded and left the office. Aziraphale pressed the talk button. “Warlock, hello.”

“I wanna run away.” Warlock’s voice was full of sadness. “I hate it here, Uncle Az! Mom and Dad are always fighting, and they hate me! I don’t want to live here! I want to come to England and live with you and Mr. C!”

Aziraphale sighed. “Dear, if you ran away, your parents would miss you. You’d miss your friends.”

“I don’t have any! Mom and Dad won’t let me. They say all the kids at my school are sinners, and that I need to realize that the Church is my only friend! I hate the Church! Everyone’s mean and they tell me that I’m being corrupted just because I wanted to grow my hair out! Mom dragged me to the barber and had it chopped off! She’s even threatened to take away my guitar! The one you sent me for my birthday last year!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Warlock, calm down. I cannot believe I am saying this, but...let me speak to your mother.”

Warlock gulped. “O..okay.” There was a pause, then a voice that Aziraphale hadn’t heard in years came over the line.

“Aziraphale?! I thought I made it clear...”

“Harriet, do shut up. Now, I want you to listen. I didn’t say anything when you decided to marry that bigoted ass you call a husband. I didn’t say anything as you changed from a bright, kind person who saw good in everyone into this...person who I don’t know. This person who spouts the same bigotry and hate that you always rebelled against. I kept silent, because as much as it hurt me to see you change, you were only damaging yourself in the end. But now you’re trying to warp your son. Warlock is his own person, and the damage you are doing to him will be irreversible. I am asking you this as family, Harriet. Stop trying to make him into something he isn’t, and try to see him for what he is. A bright child who needs acceptance and love, not scorn and derision. It’s not too late to be the person I know you can be. Warlock is a wonderful child. You just need to open your heart to him.”

“You have no right to lecture me about my son. You are an abomination, a sinner! I never want to hear from you again, do you understand me?! And don’t you **ever** contact Warlock again!” The phone line went dead. Aziraphale stared at it for several moments, then dialed another number. 

“Lo?” 

“Warlock?”

There was a sniffle. “Mom erased your number from my phone. Good thing she didn’t know about this one, huh?” 

“Indeed. Listen, I may be able to get you over here. Crowley’s boss is an American ex-pat, and she has an Aunt that still lives in the states. Her name’s Agnes, and she works for a travel agency. I could call Miss Device and see if it’s at all possible for you to come on some pretense. Once you’re here, we can figure out what to do. I don’t know if you’ll be able to stay, but at least you’ll have a chance to get away from your parents for a bit.”

“Okay.” 

Aziraphale hung up, then made more phone calls. First to Anathema, who assured him that she would call Agnes and together they would concoct a reason for Warlock to come to London. Next to Crowley, who told him that he had no problem with Warlock staying at his flat for a bit, should they be able to pull the scheme off. “And our room is soundproofed, so you can still scream my name when I’m fucking you into the mattress.” Aziraphale giggled. 

“I should be home soon, darling. How was your day?”

“Less eventful than yours, but good. I went down to the lobby and didn’t panic.”

Aziraphale beamed in pride. “Oh, my darling. I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah, me neither. I love you.” 

Crowley stared at the door, his hand in his pocket. He took the box out, opened it as if to assure himself the ring was still there, then slipped it back into his pocket. His foot tapped, and he drummed his fingers. He had never been so bloody nervous in all his life.  A thousand scenarios were running through his head. Aziraphale saying no. Aziraphale saying yes, but then changing his mind. Dropping the ring. Aziraphale laughing at him. Crowley discovering that the ring didn’t fit, and Aziraphale getting upset. Aziraphale…

Aziraphale walked in the door. Crowley nearly fell off the sofa. “Hey.”

“Hello, darling. Thank you for saying Warlock could stay, should we be able to get him from his parents. I think time away from them will only do him good.”

Crowley shrugged. “Eh, it’s cool. You talk about the kid enough I feel like I know him.” He fidgeted, a sure sign of nerves. “It’s just um...it won’t be permanent, will it?”

“No, sadly not. I’m not even sure we’ll be able to get him here, to be honest, and he’s got at least five years before he can try to declare himself an emancipated minor. I just...I want to do something for him.”

Crowley came over and hugged him. “Hey, you are. You being in touch with him meant that he was able to realize that you aren’t this horrible monster and sinner. You’ve done a lot for him. And hey, even if you can’t get him over here, you can still write to him.”

“If Harriet doesn’t tear up the letters.”

Crowley frowned. “Where’ve you been sending them? To his house?”

“Yes, but I never put a return address, and Harriet didn’t know we were in touch until today. Now I worry she’ll check the mail and tear up anything with a London post mark.”

“So set up a PO Box for him, or ask for a safe address to send the letters to. Or, you know, join the twenty first century and set up a private email. There’s ways to keep in touch with him without his parents finding out.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this. I miss the closeness Harriet and I had, and I hate that I can only communicate with Warlock via secretive means.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Adam-that’s my nephew-he lives in Tadfield, but I’ve never met him because I can’t leave this flat. I send him a card on his birthday, but if I were to bump into him on the street I don’t think I would know who he was.” 

Aziraphale hugged him, then pulled back. “Crowley, is something in your pocket?”

Crowley went stiff. “Uh...uh..no?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Crowley, I felt something poke at me.”

“Um...I’m hard?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re vulgar, is what you are. As magnificent as your cock is, I doubt that’s what I’m feeling.” 

Crowley sighed. “I...fuck, I had this whole thing planned. Had a speech and everything. Was gonna be..special. Hell, still is. So um...I was thinking. You know how much I love you, yeah?” 

“Of course.”

“Well, um...the thing is, I’ve been thinking. About the relationship we have. It’s um, it’s pretty good, right?”

“Yes...”

Crowley began pacing. “And um, well, when things are this good, chances are they’re only going to get better. They’re um...well, I  was wondering if you would um...if you would be willing to um...change. What we are.”

“How so?”

“Um, y’know, not be...just...lovers. Maybe...um...oh, fuck it. Aziraphale, will you marry me?” Crowley dropped to one knee and dug into his pocket, pulling out the object that had poked Aziraphale. “So...whaddaya say?”

Aziraphale blinked, then threw himself into Crowley’s arms, kissing him with every ounce of passion. Crowley smiled, eyes glazed over. “So...is that a yes?”

“Yes, you silly man, that’s a yes! That is a most emphatic yes! Oh, my darling!” He peppered Crowley’s face with kisses. “I love you so very much!”

Crowley beamed and slipped the ring onto Aziraphale’s finger. It was a perfect fit. “You’re my fiance!” He said, grinning like a loon. Aziraphale admired the ring for a moment, then looked over at Crowley.

“Say that again.”

Crowley kissed him. “Fiance.”

Aziraphale felt a rush of love. “Dearest darling fiance, please take me to bed.”

“Of course.”

After some very nice and very vigorous sex, Crowley called Anathema to impart the news. Upon hearing it, she made a sound that Crowley was certain could only be heard by dogs, and insisted on being Maid of Honor. “So, where are you going to get married?”

“I dunno. I’m working with my doctor at being able to be...outside, even if it is just for a few hours. Aziraphale’s promised to help as well.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, you can. Keep me posted with wedding plans, okay?”

“Will do.” 

**One Year Later**

Crowley fiddled with his tie for the hundredth time. Ana sighed and took his hands. “Hey, relax. You’re fine. You took your pills, right?” Crowley nodded. “Okay, and the ceremony is going to take fifteen minutes, tops. Then you and Aziraphale are going back to the flat for the party. You can do this, Anthony.”

Crowley gulped. It had taken a whole year of intense therapy before he felt comfortable enough to leave the flat for an extended length of time. Dr. Green had been very patient, and while Crowley now realized that his agoraphobia would never fully go away, he could at least go outside for a bit without feeling the intense terror. “I can do this. For him.”

Ana hugged him. “Yes, you can. Now, let’s get you hitched.”

In the years to come, Crowley wouldn’t remember much about the wedding. He remembered seeing Aziraphale walking toward him, a vision in white and gold. He remembered the minister saying something, and Aziraphale’s sunshine beam when the chef said “I do.” Crowley said it too, and then they kissed. He would always remember the kiss, because it was the best one he’d ever experienced. He remembered going back to the flat, and Aziraphale saying, “Hello, husband.” 

He would  **never** forget that night, when Aziraphale took him to Heaven and back, leaving him a panting, sobbing wreck who was somehow more in love than he ever had been. 

Time rolled on, and Crowley and Aziraphale remained as deeply in love as ever. Warlock, sadly, was unable to come to London, but Aziraphale, with his husband’s help, set up a private email so he could still keep in touch. Aziraphale decided that being Crowley’s husband and chef was enough of a full time job(Crowley pouted at being told this) and so passed the reins onto Adam, telling him he could change the name if he wished. Adam decided to keep it as Fell’s, as that was what everyone knew it as. 

Gabriel re opened Eden, and after six months was forced to close for good amidst allegations that he had harassed the female staff. Crowley and Aziraphale did not drink a toast in celebration. 

One  winter  day, while out shopping, Aziraphale noticed a box in an alley. Curious, he went over. Nestled inside was a small yellow kitten, shivering from the cold. Aziraphale bundled it up in his coat and took the poor thing home. Crowley fell for him right off, and so it was that Butterscotch came into their lives. 

Now the three of them sat on the sofa, Butterscotch curled up and purring in Crowley’s lap. Outside, snow was falling. Crowley leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Love you, Angel.”

“As do I love you, my sweet.”

Crowley shut his eyes, and together they drifted off, the promise of a sweet future ahead of them. 


End file.
